Dreamer's Oath
by Nyhratak
Summary: There were prisoners taken often - their lives soon followed. The commander of the Separatist flagship was a cruel, inhuman being, incapable of comprehending the emotions of those who he slaughtered like animals - but in a rare act of mercy, he spared a young woman. A young woman from the alien race he once called his own. From the ashes of a forgotten past the monster rises. DARK.
1. Emissaries

**Disclaimer****: All the characters, locations, events, etc. seen and used with the exception of originals, belong to their rightful owners, therefore: I do not own them. If I did, I would have Grievous locked in my closet for all eternity!**

**Oh, hello there! I shortened my humungo writer's note, and lookie here-this chapter was only 981 words long, until I added and changed a few things. Who woulda thunk! Anyway, to basically summarize what you new readers missed in the original A\N, this story was started, like, three years ago, but was put up in '08, after I discovered this site.**

**Now that that's covered... **

**This story goes on for quite a while chapter wise, and many have told me that I should just end it. NOT SO! I **_**do not **_**plan on ending it until everything is said and done, so you can expect that this will be continued for a long time, should I get the reviews to motivate me. Which brings me to my next topic of interest...This first chapter, I decided to rewrite, mostly because it gets a lot of hits, but only a handful of people read past it to chapter two. I don't know why, but I'm betting on the fact that it wasn't not long enough to keep people's attention, or perhaps didn't contain enough excitement\some other element that readers like. Never fear though! If you are one of my more loyal readers, you will see that the basic line has not changed much, and it still fits in perfectly with Chapter 2!**

**Review wise, I don't tend to update fast unless I get at least **_**one**_** review per chapter. So if you're one of those people who review for every chapter, you're more beast than Grievous himself...really. **

**Dreamer's Oath**

**Chapter 1~Emmisaries**

Droids were by far the lowliest and most pitiful things in the galaxy.

Their capability to understand what they were being told stopped short of true comprehension, but nonetheless, they obeyed. They neither ate, nor did they sleep. How could they? Machines lacked the ability. Beyond gender and a place in the universe, the lives they lead were transitory, and were too expendable for any living being to care what happened to any single one of them. Names were nonexistent, however rank and numbers were something these gratuitous things were partial to. All replicas of the next-with the exemption of those with higher standings, known only by the colors on their shoulders-numbers were mandatory in identifying a particular one, and most of the time, when this was in order, someone was going to get ripped apart. There were few independent thinkers among them, thus, nothing they did went beyond their primary programming. A surplus of idiocy was ever plentiful in their shallow world, and it was because of this that the higher powers often grew irritated with them. Though they did not realize what went on around them; what _truly_ lurked in the shadows of the monstrous Confederacy cruiser they worked on, the little bit that registered in their minds told them that it wasn't in any way pleasant...

...all the way from day one.

There had been put over them a tyrant, vicious in every way and merciless to the ineffectual. In one week alone, more droids had been found disabled with their bodies crushed and broken then was so in the last Republic boarding. One could say that the machines were enslaved, and if they were to make the tiniest of mistakes, the beating they received would prevent them from being of any use from then on. Of course, with the Trade Federation's leaders so 'hung-over' on their money, their factories did little to help. There was no denying the stakes were being raised as war raged all over the galaxy. Order, precision, and monotony were the words that best described the situation on the quote "bad" side. "Such a rich group of people like the Separatist council could do better"-they would say. But still, nothing changed. San Hill, a financial guide for them, very rarely offered to facilitate the military. Twice he had been convicted to; twice, and no other time after that. On the one occasion in fact, the killing terror that all the droids had come to fear had been brought to life by the greedy humanoid. The foremost leaders, mostly of the "Force using" breed, had been pleased anyway.

It was only a couple months after the Clone Wars had begun that one droid on the leading ship in the Confederacy's fleet noted something very peculiar on the scanners. Rushing to tell its neighbors who each had different jobs, and unbeknownst to it wouldn't grasp what it was trying to say, it said in as loud a voice as it was able to: "The scanners have picked up a small ship coming for us! What should I do?"

The other droids on the bridge with it looked at it oddly and returned to their work, as if seeing an unidentified ship was a usual thing. A specific one, with the serial number 98-5, who was a chief operative, turned to the subordinate next to it and said, "What a nut. There's no way someone would be stupid enough to come near the fleet. Is he one of those new models they were telling us about?"

"The ones that are supposed to be smart? I think so." The other, 37-1 replied. "But, uh, he seems pretty sure. Should we check for clearance?"

"Nah...Forget it. If he doesn't shut up soon, we'll report it." 98-5 observed, watching the supposed "newer" droid ramble on about how potentially threatening the little ship could be.

37-1 went back to the job it was assigned to, but finished with, "He won't want to here it...You know how he is."

"Maybe we should try and contact the ship anyway, to make sure their intentions aren't hostile." A third droid cut in, sitting to the right of 37-1. "He would be more mad if something happened."

98-5 looked as blank as a droid possibly could. "You're right I guess. Go ahead then, someone make contact with them before they get to close."

...

...

Drifting...

Immersed in the clutches of sleep...

_"I fear it will not be an easy road for you any longer..."_

A blissful darkness encircled she who shut out the world around her. It had been too long since she had known the comfort of rest. Within a dream that raised feelings of detestation again, she could not control her involuntary cries. Seeing the old one's face again evoked much sorrow, an emotion that neither she nor the individual she sought could ever harness. It was also a great power, having such unmanageable emotions...as well as a curse. Around the dreamscape there were figures, shadowed and intimidating, and she knew that they were the deceased divinities of legend. They surrounded her and the elder from all sides, distorted and gaunt from death's squalid grip.

_"Your old identity will be no more." _

The dark profiles approached her, chanting things in the languages of the passed times.

_"Your name, your appearance, even your life must be put behind you...The ones you once knew will not be allowed to recognize you any longer..."_

Every single departed deity around her closed in.

...

She was dead.

No, no!

Awaking from what she had hoped to be a peaceful sleep, she felt the hand on her shoulder and turned her head. Above her stood one of the two male escorts, who also had grown to be a dear friend. She wondered why he was not still residing in the cockpit with the other. His facial expression betrayed his concern, and as he slowly withdrew, he did not hold back the words.

"We have communication with the large ship. I think that you should speak with them."

She was to her feet quickly, wrapping the light brown cloak tighter around her shoulders. "And so I will. You have done a good job. You have my recognition, Thhrack."

As they walked towards the cockpit, Thhrack asked in an undertone, "Are you all right?" Unease clouded his normally unemotional tone. "You seem to have much trouble sleeping."

"No." She muttered with a small head motion as the door that separated the cabin from the front of the small ship opened. Both crossed the threshold, and Thhrack took his position in the seat next to the pilot: a male alien of the same race, yet closer in age to the female. "What is happening, Saharis?" She inquired.

"There is no time." He replied, exchanging glances with Thhrack, who had fixed his gaze on the approaching, impressive ship, or rather...fleet of ships, when closer inspection was taken. "You must talk to them."

Saharis moved, and she pressed her nimble index finger to the small black button that would allow her to have a conversation with whatever the beings aboard were.

"Hello?"

Releasing her finger, she waited, until the strange voice came through in basic. "Unknown craft, state your objectives and passenger count."

Whipping around to her counterparts, she snapped, "You did not tell me they spoke in basic!"

She knew the language of the galaxy quite well, but not knowing when situations where she had to go out of her comfort zone would arise perturbed her. The two men offered little more then slight shrugs. They weren't bilingual, and would not do much in the area of helping her. With a loud exhale and a headache coming on, she responded to the ordered question.

"We ask permission to come on board, if only for a few moments. There are three of us, and I can promise fairly confidently that my cohorts will not do anything to harm you."

Again, when she waited for a reply, she received not an answer, but another question.

"What is your purpose for needing to board?"

Growling, she countered, "Did I not just explain that to you!"

Behind her, Thhrack and Saharis chuckled, knowing that her sarcastic, irritable side was being released, even though they could not understand what she was saying. She had a knack for cynicism.

"What is your purpose for needing to board?" The monotone came for a second time, a bit more insistent.

"I'm looking for someone! I have to speak with your leader in order to get a firm grasp on what your people know. You are a Separatist war ship are you not?"

It was an eternity before a decision was made.

"We are letting the shields up for you at the main hanger bay entrance."

"Thank you for your compliance." She said immediately, knowing that taking the time to learn basic had finally paid off.

The ship was soon landed within the large space, filled with strange bustling machines and vehicles. It was a very lively place really. The three intruders donned long, brown cloaks to conceal their identities, but had to pause just before they opened the door to their transport. The woman who had secured the visit was suddenly scared, and the two males with her tried to convince her that everything would be all right, cliché though it sounded at the time. Thhrack, who was the most anxious about how she had started off handling the situation, laid a comforting hand on her, and with a determined look about him, nodded and unlocked the door to the unknown. Met by the odd little mechanical beings, all of whom had weapons raised defensively, the female took a step forward down the ramp, leaving her two companions standing behind her. As if on cue, a single machine came out from the moderately sized group as well; she knew it to be called a _droid_, but could not be sure about her friends level of knowledge. This particular one had yellow markings on its shoulders, which she assumed to be an indication of its rank. Glancing behind her, she saw even under the obscuring cowls that her traveling cohorts' faces were unresponsive. The woman closed the remaining distance until she stood but a few feet away from the welcoming party.

"State your business." The tiny voice came, and the droid shifted its weapon in what appeared to be an attempted display at superiority. "What do you want?"

Swallowing hard, she spoke in her best and clearest rendition of the basic tongue. "We have come searching for someone. He was a great leader among our people, and we must know his whereabouts." Pausing just long enough to take a deep intake of breath, she went on. "His last known contact with the outside world was of the Separatists-a certain head amid the Banking Clan, I believe. You have such here, do you not? I wish very highly to speak with him about..."

But the droid did not listen, and with its inhuman eyes centered on her, the rest of them joined in the cause, not amused. Nervous, she took a step back, as Thhrack and Saharis joined her side threateningly. They had no physical weapons, but they could rip the droids apart if it came down to that. She looked to Thhrack for assistance, "What do I say?" She requested quietly in her native language. "They will not listen." A glimpse at the group of droids proved that they were doing the same thing: conversing to themselves about it.

At last, the same one came back out, and stated very plainly. "We think that you are not here with good intentions, and therefore we will have to kill you now."

The three exchanged glances, and with a grimace, Saharis acted out before the appropriate time. She yelled at him to stop, but he did not listen. He took hold of the droid that had made the proclamation and literally ripped it apart, verifying the previous assumption on the female's part. The pieces of metal lay strewn around the floor, and the other machines watched dumbly as the foreigner approached them dauntingly, facing the second that they opened fire on him. He was agile, and dodged the first blasts with ease, but he was no match for all of them, and just as he got close enough to touch one of them, he fell to the ground with a gaping hole in his chest. She raised her hands for them to stop, but they shot him again and again, until his whole body was filled with bleeding marks. Thhrack looked at her, and with a sad smile, took off towards the murderers. They had been so innocent looking in the beginning! She had been told that they were utterly stupid when it came to independent mental comprehension, but as Thhrack was shot down before her eyes, trying to save her as he had been instructed to do, she could not take it anymore. With an unrestrained cry, she dove down in from of his unmoving corpse, knowing that he was minutes from death, and on her knees, implored with the detached killers. She made no sense of her words, for they were in both her own language, and basic. It happened so much when she was scared. One of the droids had taken hold of Saharis's ankle, and had started to drag him away. She endeavored to recover him, but she could not bring herself to leave Thhrack, and ended up with her head in her arms on the floor, crying desperately unlike any other time in her life with only one exception. Through the hateful tears that clouded her eyes, she saw his head turn to her, his eyes open only just. Blood covered him; his breath was ragged now. She took his hand, hanging on to the little life he still possessed.

"This is for a reason..." He whispered those words, and he stilled, his hand still in hers.

She did not join them in death.

...

...

In a chamber as dismal as the Geonosian catacombs, the cyborg sat, positioned in a gloomily constructed chair at the very back of it. Windows surrounded him on a good three sides, spanning from the floor to the ceiling. Outside of the all but imperishable glass were the endless stars in the black sea of space-a spectacular sight to behold. But he didn't notice them. He was far too preoccupied.

Between the endless strategizing and combat, he had little time for anything else. His golden eyes repeatedly ached for a different scene then the bustling ship he commanded. The life he led was empty; numb to him, and he habitually had a point in the day when he would straightforwardly lock himself in the tall observatory spire that most considered being his "quarters". Every leader needed accommodations, living or not. In point of fact, he was _technically_ alive, as it were, but lacked certain qualities of a living organism... For instance, he could not eat, because he was deficient of a mouth. He could not sleep, since the faux body he was forced to live in was not mortal, but mechanical. He could not feel the emotions of the living. There was no room left for anything else, he could only assume. Naturally! It had to be so! Someone in his irreplaceable position was exempt from the anticipated sentiments of the life forms around him. That meant that absolutely nothing-excluding hatred, and anything else along those lines. This was predictable-was tolerated. No joy, or happiness, or sympathy, or passion. Nothing.

Nothing for a creature that had nothing. _What a waste_...

Forgetting these inconsequential setbacks, his mind made up for any disability. It was as sharp as a steel blade, and was cunning enough to challenge even the most crafty strategist. Such a brain could formulate military tactics without even working itself a great deal, and then come up with individual orders for the solitary regiments. Persecution beyond understanding was devised; death sentences that chilled innocents to the bone. Whether or not anyone met these verdicts was _completely_ up to them. But, any way one put it, any life where death decided how all events would transpire had to be rough. And it _was_. Very rough. The constant fear of failure was pervasive, so much so that most would wonder what was wrong with the cyborg. Every ounce of his energy was poured into pleasing his superiors, who could either be on his side, or in the frame of mind to punish him at any given time.

Frequently, he would consider leaving the proverbial misery that inundated him.

But he knew better then that.

Of course he did... He was a leader. A _general_. His mere carriage told it all.

Many sleepless hours went into his construction, and to that he was somewhat appreciative, in the sense that he felt obligated to prove that he wasn't the letdown they had originally thought. When approached by a long forgotten employer subsequent to being brutally injured, he had ultimately decided that his life would change the standings of the war he was told would soon come. When it had happened, it had seemed like a good enough idea, but there was a catch, as always. He would never forget that day, and with good reason...

_He had awoken to death._

_He had experienced no feeling in his incapacitated body._

_Around him, bipedal insect creatures had scurried back and forth; their transparent wings had made an irksome buzzing sound. His gaze had been clouded, but he had been able to distinguish what type of situation he was in: he had been held upright in a pod-like structure, separated from the outside world by a thin sheet of pressurized glass. His breathing had been laborious, even when helped along by the oxygen rich environment they had placed him in. Outside the little container, of sorts, he had seen two others-an old looking man, who radiated power and another human male with dark hair. They had spoken in muffled tones, and he had strained to hear._

_One of the insect creatures had approached the older, quite reverentially. It said something in a strange dialect, and the unhooded man had appeared to shake his head. _

_"Excellent." The voice had been ominous, and the man had turned to the accompanying individual. "He said that the subject's condition is stabilizing. I will have to contact my Master to inform him of the good news."_

_Master? A brief feeling of astonishment had overcome him. Who was this man that he had a master...? He had thought._

_The insect had continued on momentarily, making lively hand motions._

"_Oh...I see. Bounty hunter, leave me, if you please." _

_The younger one had nodded, offering a short, "Whatever you say. Just let me see 'im when he's all done."_

"_You will, I assure you. I sense that _everyone_ will."_

_Who were these people! His thoughts had run even more wild, as he tried desperately to figure out what was happening, or at least going to happen. He had watched the one human leave, while the other had approached him, speaking to himself._

"_You said that his neurological system is mutilated?"_

_There had been clicks and chirps in reply, most like a 'yes' ._

_He had figured out then that the problem just addressed was the reason there was no pain of any kind. Nerves had been destroyed to the point where everything had been just a past notion. It had seemed so terrible at the time. By the time the old man had reached a close proximity, there had been no denying the fact that he was no ordinary elder. There had been something special about him from the start. He had been..._different_._

"_Can you here me in there?" _

_All he had managed was a small nod, directly surmising that the man had an annoying smug tone to his deep tenor. _

"_Good. I trust you understand basic then?"_

_Again, all he had been able to accomplish was a nod._

"_Perhaps you're not a completely uncivilized animal after all are you?"_

_His eyes had widened, then had shone was a murderous glint in them, symbolizing all too well the fact that the comment had offended him. _

_The insulter had carried on without adjournment. "Now, listen to what I have to tell you." He paused._

_With much effort, the object of fascination had tilted his head only just, as if to say 'I do not have much of a choice then to sit here and listen to you talk, now do I?'. If he had been able to talk, he would have said that in all the sarcasm left in his being. _

"_I am fairly sure that they already explained to you the details of this predicament, but we-my colleagues and I-are willing to offer you an escape."_

_Though the man had sounded like the devil, there was no reason to decline an offer to get a life back, and so, they had come to an agreement. _

It was all a bad memory now, the cyborg imagined.

After his experiences with the ones he had later found out to be called Geonosians, those foul insectoids with too much time on their hands, he had grown to regret his choice, and now despised life.

His talons clicked restlessly on the metal floor as he attempted to furnish an adequate battle tactic. The sullen gaze that pierced so many in the days following his resurrection was centered on the ground near his feet, the constant narrowing of his eyes and absorbed, manufactured exhales disclosing his thoughtful reverie. A small beep from a communication device built into the left armrest of the chair instantaneously snapped him out of his thinking trance.

He pushed a button and verbalized three, simple words that held all of his cruelty and annoyance at that very moment. "What is it?" He was quick in his inquiry, rough voice purposely lower.

"Sir," the voice of one of his bodyguard droids warbled in its quiet voice. "Something has happened that requires your immediate attention."

His comeback wasn't delayed. "And what is the nature of this urgent request, may I ask?"

"An intruder, sir." The droid replied. "A female. What race she is was not viable. The species does not show up in our public records. She claimed to be looking for someone, and had two others with her. They were killed when they acted out in hostility."

"I see..." He mused over it a moment, weighing the odds. "Bring her up here." He told his guard at last. "She will be dealt with in the usual manner."

"Yes, sir."

He leaned back, curious, yes, but he figured that nothing out of the ordinary would happen. Either way, this trespasser would die. There were too many undisclosed bits of information she could have heard if she were by any chance a spy. The secrets held aboard this ship were many, and the thing about such secrets...

...was that they could have some very dangerous results.

_Not so different from me, in a way_...He thought, with a mental smirk, looking forward to eliminating whoever they were. _Not so different at all_...

...

...

They had placed her in the captivity of a large, almost alien-like droid that she had not yet seen. She rested with her back against the wall. Depression had taken over her mind, and she saw only grimness in her future. What was that Thhrack had said? Oh yes, that there was a purpose to this whole predicament. Not that she actually believed that, but it was the only thing she had to hold on to.

She sighed forlornly, drawing the droid's attention.

That wasn't good.

Though it didn't have any features that could define its feelings, she could tell by the way its fingers curled tighter around the handle of its staff-like weapon that it wanted nothing more then to decapitate her. Another droid of the same type meandered rapidly up, glancing at her before saying to the other silently: "The General wants to see her."

Who was _that_ supposed to be?

Did that mean that there were even _more_ different types of droids? Even some that were so high-class that they got ranks as _general_s?

She thought she met both of her "guard's" gazes, until there was a sudden movement from one of them, an excruciating pain in her head, and everything around her went black.

...

...

**How'd you like it, huh? Review please and I shall personally bake you a batch of your favorite cookies ^_^**


	2. Getting Aquainted

**I haven't much to say, and actually use the G-dawg's name in this! WOOT!**

**Chapter 2~Encounter With Death**

They brought her in many hours later.

The general, upon noting that she was unconscious, dismissed his bodyguards with terse words of disapproval for their thoughtless actions. But then again, they were droids, what could he do? _Scrap _them? Not such a bad idea...

_The old man would get himself into a state over that_... He thought with negligible amusement. It was accurate; many deemed his loathsome destruction in the midst of his troops inane. He found it funny; seeing their little metal bodies condense when crushed, or the constant spare parts lying around the halls and hangers. Yes, droids were the most obtuse creations he had ever observed, and for that matter _led_. And at this point, they had caused the great commander more stress then was needed from one who always was worried about this or that...

_Now_ he had to delay his death plans until she awoke, and could be questioned aptly.

He paced back and forth anxiously; something he did quite often when stressed. Never before had he encountered a circumstance like this, and he wasn't entirely convinced that his approach would be the right way to go about disposing of the captured one. What if there was something _wrong_ with her? If so, was that why his guards had knocked her out? The _last _thing he wanted was a deranged being running around his flagship...

He dwelled on these aspects for only seconds until he happened to look at the insensible one on the floor.

What he saw shocked him.

She wore a hood, but he knew right away what her race was.

He knew this race well. Far _too_ well, in fact.

This, of course, still didn't change the fact that she was a trespasser. He leaned down to withdraw the hood from her head. Beneath was the hideously featured face of a woman; young, but far past adolescence. The revolting visage to most was normal to him, and he found himself feeling completely comfortable for the first time since his convalescence.

She was Kaleesh. A two legged reptile abnormality. His precedent alien race.

Some would call the convenient reappearance ironic. He called it the will of the gods. For some time he had been wondering how his people were faring without him, and this was his opportunity to get much sought after information. Subsequently, a thought popped into his head. _How do I go about explaining_... He held up one cybernetic arm in front of his line of vision, examining the separate ligaments and wires. _This_...? He concluded with a sigh.

It was rather strange. Something inside told him that this woman had played some part in his past, though he was in the dark about what it could have been. If it was true, and he had been acquainted with her in his bleak history, she would understand and possibly submit to his unconventional new form? He just shook the feeling off and stalked back over to his chair and fell into it, more annoyed then anything. There was a long time of silent waiting and observing, even the occasional shaking to try and get her to wake up so he could get this over with as quick as possible and be rid of her.

It was his job to eradicate her. He had no other choice. The likelihood that his master would assume the worst was the solitary factor in his mind, and it was that... that forever gave him enough nerve to end immaterial lives.

She would infrequently shudder and tremble as if she were in the middle of some appalling nightmare, but that would only last a few seconds, and then she would be settled again.

He took many opportunities to study her, striving to fathom why she seemed so recognizable. Her features seemed somewhat refined compared to a standard Kaleesh, and she comprised an aura of peace; closed reptilian eyes rendering a certain countenance that he had not seen since...

Since _what_?

He couldn't remember... In spite of that, something seemed so familiar about her face. Something so memorable. Haunting even.

He _did_ understand that most of his race held many similar appearances. In reality, he couldn't have cared less.

Or did he?

No! He had to push the thoughts out of his mind. He was a leader of thousands; mortal and perfunctory, and there was no way he could dirty his strategic record with such beliefs. This confusion angered him. He wanted to be in complete and utter control of his life, and no female that gave the impression of being faintly identifiable could ever impede upon that.

It was then, that he noticed the object in her hand.

This, evidently, made him inquisitive that it might be something of worth. But just as he was about to take it¾her eyes opened.

She saw a monster.

Wait… it was unquestionably a man; horribly altered and mutated until nothing but the eyes were visible.

The rest was a cybernetic array of immaculately placed armorplast; his heart and enduring internal organs enclosed by intricately positioned chest plates. Thrown back over his broad shoulders was a cloak with a scarlet interior and, from what she could see, a blue-gray peripheral. Inside, there was an assortment of weapons; one she knew as a blaster, and some others she didn't recognize.

His head¾or what was left of it¾boasted flawlessly proportioned engravings that ran from the middle of the grommets in the mask up to the back of the artificial skull. The base of it came to a pair of blunt points that harbored the many small devices that gave this creature the ability to speak. If she didn't know better, she would have immediately presumed that the design of the faceplate suggested that of her race, but she was convinced that it was only a coincidence.

What horrible tales did this creature had hidden from the universe? What had he done that had turned him into this monster? No man would give his life willingly... would he?

A horrific thought came to her mind. Had he been given a choice? Many pictures of a decrepit test subject popped into her head, but she quickly forgot them intentionally.

So the real question now was: was it a man, or a monster?

He could be _classified_ as a monster; or an animal; or whatever he was. Nonetheless, she was instantaneously horrified upon seeing his revolting face plate. The brilliant golden eyes that reminded her so much of her own were glared at her with such malice and a hunger for death that even one that encompassed all the courage in the universe would be brought to their knees in terror.

"At last," she heard a synthesized voice say from behind the mask. "The quarry awakes."

She didn't speak to it. She refused to look it in the eyes.

He gave a low, flat chuckle. "If I were you, I would have stayed unconscious..." His accent was vivid, and the way his tone rose and fell made known his obscurity with basic.

The urge to get an explanation as to what was going on hit her. "What are you talking about?" She demanded, slowly inching backwards to give herself enough space to stand up. But the atrocious creature would have none of it¾slamming his incurably pointed clawed feet down on a fragment of the cape she wore.

"You wonder why you are here?"

She nodded.

"Humorous to the very least..." His gaze strayed away from her, and he said very distantly, "You came here to _die_."

It was as she feared. They had only let her live because they wanted their bloody master to finish her off agonizingly. She stared hard at him, but he seemed too lost to notice. "You mean to tell me," she said, "that those hostile defenders of yours bothered to knock me out and bring me all the way up here just so you could _kill me_?"

He glowered at her. "Correct." He snapped. "Unfortunately... word came a short time ago. My superior wishes my presence as soon as possible." Releasing his talons slowly from the floor and permitting her to stand, he beckoned the two droids who allegedly brought her up. They walked in, weapons held out to the side, virtually meeting the ground. Their leader gave them a disgusted look that was supposed to be underhanded, but she noticed it right away. "Take this one and keep her in one of the storage rooms until I settle on a reasonable time to execute her. She is to be given no food, and no one is to enter the particular room in attempt to speak or interrogate her further." He told them, then swinging around to face her. "Your gods have graced you with another day of life... do not take it for granted."

With that said, he took his leave without so much as a further word.

She couldn't help but wonder then who was beneath the metal armor, and what his story was. He couldn't possibly have always been like he was now...

But that was the least of her worries. She had to find some way to avoid the death sentence.

_Whatever it takes_…

He met up with his superior in good time, pulling to a halt before the elderly man. With a cloak of the finest fabric draped over his shoulders, the human was a faultless depiction of wealth and precision. That was to be expected from one of such a wealthy descent, all the same, but the man was always so... _overly done_. His ordinarily arrogant expression was replaced by one of angst¾empty eyes drilling his pawn with an undeniable revulsion.

"General Grievous." The human's deep voice was critical, as always. "You are late."

As the commander of the droid armies¾courtesy of the Trade Federation¾he was constantly reminded of his obligation to be, as a minimum, early to every wretched appointment and briefing that those who were of a higher grade then he formulated. In this case, it was only a simple meeting with the holographic form of the shadowy Darth Sidious; the one who controlled all of the undergoings on the Separatist's side.

"Forgive my deferment," Grievous said just as aversively to the human. "There was a _slight_ problem..."

He was given an even more distasteful look. "Well, let us hope it was as trivial as your tone indicates."

"It _was_."

His superior turned away, just as an image of their master appeared on the small platform before them. Grievous arched into a bow, his elegant cape falling forward a bit. Beside him, the human did the same, yet not to the same extent as the cyborg.

"Ah, good, you're both here." The Sith lord addressed them with as much enthusiasm as the thought of socializing brought to the general. "Lord Tyranus, I trust your apprentice has secured her consigned world's loyalty?"

"Yes, my Master," Tyranus replied. "She accomplished it much faster then even I expected."

Grievous ventured a glance at him, taking perception of his sudden altered stance. There was no hiding his pride in the achievements of his apprentice. Darth Tyranus, or as most knew him as: _Count Dooku_, was very fulfilled by the company of his¾or so word suggested¾_atypical_ novice, Commander Asajj Ventress. Conversely, though, the humanoid woman was only around because Dooku never felt like defiling his hands over matters of war. Grievous had never understood what a little blood could hurt... But everyone was entitled to their own opinion, he supposed, just as long as it wasn't derogatorily directed towards him.

He continued to watch the conversation between master and pupil, jaded by the subject. Yet still, he remained patient. His senses perked up when he heard the patent word "Jedi" mentioned in their disregarded discussion.

"...and the General will be leading the attack when the time comes, I assume?"

"Well, he¾"

Grievous cut in before Dooku could say any more. "Yes, Lord Sidious, I _will_."

He targeted an equally smug look over at the human, eyes showing as good a smirk as one without a mouth could show.

Sidious scowled, but said nothing further on the matter. "How is your work with the droid armies coming, General?" Grievous only nodded to signal his success. "I expect that you will lead them well in the coming future."

"I intend to." The general assured. "What of the Jedi? Have you any news on their standings?"

"I see that you have grown eager to see them fall."

"Yes, my lord. I await the day when their esteemed order crumbles with much fervency. Is there any news?" He pressed, careful not to be too trying.

"From my _work_, I have gathered information on their forthcoming plans, which you will receive in due time..."

"Master," Dooku stopped their exchanges. "I do not mean to be injudicious, but we have more significant matters to confer then the desires of your _droid_ General."

"Certainly, lord Tyranus." Sidious centered his attention back on Grievous, who shifted recurrently, on edge. "General, your attendance is not required any longer. You may get back to your duties."

Grievous bowed once more. "I will not fail you, my lord."

Sidious smiled maliciously. "We shall see..."

Note~ I have tried very hard to make the G-dawg's personality correct. So, yes, if the readers could kindly give me suggestions if some of the stuff Grievous says doesn't seem...Grievous-ish, perhaps I can fix that; it'll _**really **_help me in the future. (thanks!)


	3. Unanswered Questions

_So, do ya understand what's happening so far? If you do, that's great! CAUSE I DON'T!!! Hah-ha... No, seriously, I don't, all of this sorta just comes to me, ya know? Strange... Currently, I know how this storys gonna end (though I haven't written it yet), and I intend to __finish _it! I mean, really now! I don't like it when there's some unintentional cliff-hanger ending in these sorts of stories, so I will spare all of you who feel the same way the torture!! Um--- OH YEAH! The first part in the following chapter is dedicated to my junior high youth group leader, who likes tragic stuff and unwittingly inspired me to write this when giving ideas on the way back from a concert. If I may, I want to explain what'll be happening with these 'italicized' sections... You see, dear reader, certain parts explain much of what generates the basis for later segments, I do _not_ intend to use any of the same concepts in the "first part" of this story (though I do not intend to use 'R.K's' _name _-at least not until I determine some things- any for the sake of the opening portions...)

*** 

The following is just a rather random part that was created in my head while browsing my picture collection on my laptop. I happened to come upon one where it was a silhouette of a guy standing on a hill overlooking some ocean. I suppose it was just unsystematically visualized as a good starter for a memory Grievous has... 

**Chapter 3~Unanswered Questions**

_The dull sound of the thunderous waves went unobserved to him. He stood with head erect on a rise overlooking the crystalline ocean; hands clasped tightly behind his back. The red sun shimmered out over the water, only a sliver in the swiftly darkening sky, the cape on his back snapping furiously in the wind. _

_His bitter soul wept within, while his cold face showed not even the slightest hint of the emotion that implored so desperately to be set free. His eyes were closed, shutting out what lay around him: carcasses. The grotesque corpses seemed to mock him; seemed to continually advise him of the recent events. _

_He needed no reminding, for he knew. He had been there_¾_and had seen what had transpired on that godforsaken shoreline. How could this have happened to him!? Once told he was blessed, his despondent mind could only conjure one, simple query: why? Why would a sanctified man be so cursed? As he drew breaths furiously through gritted teeth, he recalled the words of a sage, long departed. "Much suffering will befall you... the gods have revealed this to me..." The old man's voice had been faint; understandingly calm as he had spoken to the young warrior, who, at the time had listened with reverence to the wise ones teachings. "Pay heed to what I have to say, the anguish you will meet_¾_it will be the greatest you will ever have to face in your long life... When the deed has been done, embrace the pain." He remembered clearly that the man had touched his shoulder lightly then, closing the conversation. "Do not let it break you, young one..."_

_But it had. That meager fool of a man had wasted his breath that day. Nothing he had been told could ever replace what was lost! Nothing! _

_Finally, in the end, he fell to his knees, throwing his head back and allowing his sentiment overcome his indignant mentality. The resonance that followed this action was that of a man possessed_¾_a merciless series of oaths and instinctive avowals._

_As a final act, the commonsensical language merged with a single, earsplitting roar, echoing out over the waters and waking many from the clutches of sleep._

_The rage was consuming him... and he could do nothing to stop it... _

*-*-*-*-*-*

The muffled vibrations of the ship woke her from her momentary sleep. It had been a long time, and the lack of nutrition had weakened her significantly. By now, she had assumed they had all forgotten about her, and she was lonely in the small, empty room that she would have preferred the companionship of those odd droid guards over the blankness that surrounded her. She repetitively speculated why the fearsome leader hadn't come to execute her yet. In a few days, he wouldn't even have to bother!... if he ever remembered. The terrifying bearing he took still frightened her, even supposing that the viewing she had of him was concise. Sometimes, she would hear his raised voice in the hall, along with the violently fleet footfalls. On one occasion, he even seemed to stop at her door, seeming to be alone, but almost immediately continued down the corridor.

She had tried everything, and she had long since come to the conclusion that there was nothing she could do now to survive. Unless...

The door slid open with a hiss, and she saw the foreboding outline sojourned just outside the dim light. A slenderly clawed hand snaked around the doorframe and dispassionately flipped a well hidden switch. Several bright, red lights wavered to life from universally throughout the area, blinding her momentarily. She wasn't unaccustomed to such luminosity, given that all she had seen for months had been the dark, infinite space... _searching_...

A taloned foot broke the barrier of light and dark, followed by his mechanized body. The intense stare flicked around the room, scrutinizing the walls, ceiling, and floor, until it came to a stop at her. With a slight huff, he began backing out, as hardhearted as always. He offered her no more then a pitiless look before proceeding to raise his finger to a small button on the exterior wall to trigger the door and seal up the room again. She couldn't just let him _leave _her in there to die!

Thinking fast, a single word escaped her. "No!" She cried feebly.

His hand stopped dead, and his head turned threateningly; portentously to her. Gradually, his arm dropped back down to his side, and he slowly stepped back inside, approaching her in a near graceful manner. That was crushed shortly after, and he grabbed her neck and yanked her off the ground, his fingers almost penetrating the skin on her throat. "You called, hostage?" He said raspingly, tightening his grip.

She only gagged in reply.

"What was that?" The commander snickered tilting his head sideways, so that the right auditory mechanism built into his mask was near her mouth. "I did not catch that."

She gripped his wrist, getting her hands cut up over the sharp coverings in the process. This creature clearly enjoyed the torment of others, and his palpable laughter wasn't helping matters.

"P¾please!" She begged urgently, suffocating more every moment.

"Please _what_?" He answered in a hiss.

She struggled to say something; anything that would save her.

"L¾l¾let g¾o of m¾m¾m¾my th¾thro¾throat!" She finally spat out. It was a deplorable excuse for a request, but at the moment, she could think of nothing else to say. At long last, she was dropped to the floor, gasping and clawing at the flat surface in a sporadic method. "Th¾thank you..." She sighed, relieved but confused.

He grunted, eyeing her, afterward spinning around to depart as he had done before. From her position on the floor, all she saw was his feet heading back in the direction of the exit. He was leaving _again_?

"_Wait_!" She shouted more forcefully, determined to make him pay attention to her anemic state. "I _need _help!"

It didn't phase him, and this time, he did not turn. "I am not obligated to listen to your useless entreating for facilitation, nor do I _care_."

"But I will starve if something is not done! As the Captain of this ship, you should show more care in the condition of your passengers!"

"_General_."

"Excuse me?"

"General. _I_... am a _General_. Not a _Captain_. Not an _Admiral_. A _General_." She heard him muttering something along the lines of, "Captain indeed..."

"Well...!?"

The general looked over his shoulder. "Your tone does not amuse me... Beware of how you speak in my presence."

"You would talk like that too if you knew you were going to die in a few measly days!"

"Is that an invitation for your death?!" He retorted, abruptly rampant.

That was all he cared about; death. It appeared to hang like a cloud over him. She looked at his turned back, practically feeling sorry for him. He stood very still, only moving once, then beginning to twitch uncontrollably. She wondered what was going through his head. His past must have been dreadfully heartrending to shape him into such a monster.

She took a deep breath. "No sir..."

"Good." He calmed himself some, fiddling with an object he had inside his cloak. "Learn your place and you will continue to remain alive."

"But, sir!" Her voice rose again, fraught with despair. "I will not remain alive if I _starve_!"

He snarled quietly. "What do I look like to you? A domestic!?"

"What I meant was¾"

"I do not _care _what you meant." He interrupted. "If you starve; you starve. It will only be a load off my shoulders."

"You just said¾" Her voice tapered off into silence when she saw his reaction.

He clenched in fists, seething. "I _know _what I said! And now I am saying _this_... I am not concerned if you _die_. I only said that you would not be _killed_... If you were more intelligent then a _rock_ you could tell that there is a vast difference!!"

"Surely you cannot be that heartless..." She told him honestly.

"Woman..." He said with a noise that sounded a lot like a sigh. "You know nothing of me..."

And their second acquaintance was ended.

*-*-*-*-*-*

The next day, the door slid open, and in walked a droid.

It came to a stop about a foot from where she sat and dropped a small metal container into her lap.

"General's orders." It said, then exiting.

She released the closure mechanism. There were provisions in it that would last a couple of days. She raised her eyes to the door, caught up in deliberations.

The droid had said _General's orders_…

But, the robotic commander had specified that if she went hungry he wouldn't be disappointed. So what had made him change his mind?

He must have had a reason for wanting to keep a prisoner alive, or he wouldn't have bothered. One thing that she had been taught in her youth was that everyone, sinful or not, always had a purpose behind their actions, and he seemed no exception.

_And so comes about yet another vagueness that only time will reveal… _She cogitated, commencing to end her malnourishment.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Back in his quarters, General Grievous watched the prisoner with satisfaction on a security monitor¾it had begun...

*-*-*-*-*-*

**You like? It was a somewhat strange conclusion to the chapter in my opinion, but... wadaya gonna do? I won't be able to update till, like, next Friday, cause', sadly, WE DON'T HAVE INTERNET AT OUR HOUSE, and I have to make due with infrequent trips to the library with my 'technical buddy'... I hope you enjoyed what I have thus far, and I look forward to reading--- er, **_**hearing,**_** your reviews... (**_**constructive**_** criticism**** allowed!) **

**Your obedient servant,**

**N.O **


	4. Discovered

Hardy har har!!! Lookee! Lookee! I back!!! This chapter sets the stage for practically the whole story. So if the readers assumed the beginning bit did, _they were mistaken_... I haven't the foggiest idea why, but this chapter was hard to write in my opinion, most likely due to the fact that I was in a rather 'unfamiliar' environment, sitting on a scarily flowered sofa! AHHH!!! Yeah. That would be why... Hence, why I ask you to please disregard my shortage of articulacy. He-he... articulacy...

**Chapter 4~Discovered**

Whispers of a captive had reached his keen ears. Count Dooku, once learning this, felt it his liability as an instructor on behalf of _it_, to terminate the prospect. Sidious would never back the incarceration of any unarmed caller. The Sith lord would want them dead on sight. Dooku had imagined that his general felt the same way moreover, but seeing as the nauseating creature hadn't done what he was supposed to yet, it was time for intervention. The sheer thought of mercy from Grievous would have been enough to drive the count up the wall if he didn't know otherwise. Grievous had no mercy left in him; this Dooku was sure of¾the Geonosians had promised as much when the credits were dropped in their filthy little hands.

Succinctly, the prized commander was as heartless as his metal charges.

_Just like a droid should be_...

The dim hallways irritated Dooku, but he reluctantly kept his judgmental comments to himself. After all, this wasn't his ship to command, though he did make suggestions on how things should be run now and then. The typical reaction would be fairly conciliated, along with a drawn out, gauche silence consisting of heated movements and actions from Grievous, leaving at least one unlucky droid in defective condition. The general, these days, would purposely avoid communication with Dooku on any juncture feasible, in an effort to evade chastisement for his mere existence no doubt...

Dooku had _tried_ to be patient with the cyborg. Oh, how he had tried! And how was that tolerance repaid? The sickening excuse for a organism always had a negative remark or gesticulation for the man, that's what! The audacity of that... that _contraption_! No wonder everyone was afraid of him. He probably frightened them with his infirmity for all he knew! The constant disrepute for the count was manifest, while not even Dooku could tell what Grievous uttered about his master in baleful darkness.

He entered an elevator at the end of the hall, thankful in any case that there weren't any droids within it to suffer through. Dooku waited unwearyingly, pending the stopping point, stroking his silvery beard meditatively. He was on his way up to confront the general about the so called convict, inexorably getting an explanation out of him.

When Dooku entered Grievous's residence, the cyborg was nowhere in sight. Slowly walking down the steps, he said assertively, "I know you are in here... You can not elude me forever, General."

He scanned the room, listening intently for the slightest stirring of cybernetic components. At length, Dooku found the general sitting alongside of a number of screens. Every one of them was vacant; shut down, except one. What he saw made him smile coldly. He observed the alien woman, who, like some caged living thing at a planetary zoo, looked around¾terrified of what was to come. She had good reason to be. She was about to elapse.

"_What_ do you _want_, Count?" Came the guttural stipulation. Grievous's eyes were closed; his breathing quieted, but the way he asked his question made it seem as if he was in his unexceptional piqued frame of mind.

Dooku raised an eyebrow at him. "So," he began to indict, "the mighty General: leveled by the charisma of a equally dreadful aberration." He paused to let it sink in. "How nice for you."

Grievous rose to his full height, eyes snapping open to glare. He stabbed a finger at Dooku's face in contempt. "If I was not working under your Master, I would _rip you apart_ where you stand."

_That unsightly eyesore would lose his head before he even touched me..._ The count thought, his gaze dropping to the lightsaber on his belt. "If you value your position, General, I would think twice before I make threats like that."

Grievous looked about ready to hit the roof. However, to Dooku's surprise, he replied very calmly while withdrawing his hand, "Yes..." He appeared disingenuous, odds-on that he didn't want to anger one he knew could harm him. In other words, the cyborg was intellectually stimulated enough to recognize a hazard when he saw one.

"Well." Dooku, for once, became quite content with Grievous's approach. That gratification lasted for a whole second, until it was crushed by the next statement. "Do not forget, General, you are only alive to this day because we needed a leader for the droid armies¾pitiable though they may be¾and if you fail us in any way, consider yourself... _superfluous_."

"You know very well that I yearned only death from the moment they told me what I would become." Grievous hissed. "But no. People like _you _would not give me my rights!"

"We are not talking about you." The general slipped down into his natural deportment in small increments, attentive of what was coming. Dooku continued, "General, if you do not give me a valid explanation as to why you were watching this... _prisoner_ so intently that your _eyes got drowsy_, I am afraid my Master will hear of this."

"I know not of what you speak." Grievous had stiffened, effecting the control over his voice. "It is my _duty _to mind the status of my own prisoners. Even the _dense_ would agree to that!" Dooku lingered on the borders of inexpressive condemnation, watching as the general fought to bridle his rising irritability. "As for my restful state..." He was skeptical, there was no hiding it. He bowed his head, "I have no excuse. The absence of exertion must have caused a lapse in my priorities."

Dooku glanced over at the monitor again. _A lapse in his priorities... _

"The prisoner." Grievous said, careful not to be aggravating. "I have a feeling we have crossed paths before. Is this possible?"

"Of course not." _At least not when I say so_... "Don't be ridiculous. Now get this folly out of your head and _get back to work_."

"With pleasure. What will you have me do?"

"Oh, it is reasonably simple." Grievous listened fixedly to him, a rare feat for a cyborg who strived to show disrespect. "Get rid of that prisoner," Dooku pointed at the woman on the screen.

"_How_?" Was Grievous's confused reply.

"How...?" The count was getting frustrated. The Confederacy's property was stalling¾trying to wheedle his way out of a job like always. "You are a General of millions; a scheming role in this war and a murderous instrument of sadistic precision! And you ask _how _to kill a prisoner? Or are you having second thoughts on your commitment?"

"No! Never!"

"I should certainly hope not. You are not built for such disloyalty. Our whole asset would have been a complete letdown if that were so."

Grievous let it go, as he had done so many times before. "Yes, I am _quite_ aware of that, Count. You persist to remind me every time we speak."

"Then what is stopping you? I would have thought she would have been departed by this point." Dooku had nothing against the captive, but Grievous required a good test of loyalty. And what better way then to make him eradicate her?

The general thought it over, then, with a near ashamed look in his eyes, he said regretfully, "She will be dead by tomorrow."

That was too far from now. It needed to be earlier then that. Too much could happen in that time to change his mind. In contrast... he was a tenacious character, both headstrong and intent. One who would strive to fulfill his orders and be a good lackey, as was expected from such a rogue.

"Excellent. But a cunning individual such as yourself could finish the job much quicker then that." He allowed an unnecessarily long tranquility. "Within the hour, perhaps?"

"I am not confident I could arrange¾"

"That will not be too much of a burden, will it, General?"

He took a long time to answer, but finally he stated indecisively, "No. No, it will not. I will see to it as soon as workable."

Grievous incessantly reallocated himself, ostensibly disconcerted about his constraint. Dooku identified this as a sign to leave. While treading out, he said very vindictively back to the cyborg, "General." He was harkened to. "Remember what I said..."

The last thing Count Dooku heard was the screeching of Grievous's talons against the floor, before the elevator doors sealed.


	5. A Diffident Verdict

**Chapter 5~A Diffident Verdict**

Grievous was trapped.

His rebellious side was screaming _contravene_, while his more subservient traits told him that if he failed to mind the orders he had been given, the price would be severe. Dooku wouldn't approve, but who was he to tell Grievous what to do? _Then_ there was Darth Sidious¾and what harm he could do to the general never dared to enter his thoughts.

The will for power was building, but all he could think about was the emotively memorable face of the imminent victim. That power and bloodlust overshadowed any such feelings of benevolence and mercy, wiping them out almost completely. To feel otherwise would have been an utter adversity; a misfortune greater then that which forged the duranium body he had to endure day after agonizing day.

He looked back at his bodyguards, IG-100 models, as he recalled from his initial encounter with them. Every once in a while, he had their primary programming adjusted to his liking. If he had to have droids as "elite", why not make them what he wanted them to be? Well... at least he got _that_ liberty¾even if he found them worthless apart from fighting. Ensuring that he made blatant his loathing of them, his head revolved back around to face strait ahead.

The ordinarily used corridor seemed to have a particular homicidal appeal about it, and Grievous knew that this would be as easy as any other he had killed. He had contained the nerve to end the life of that malingering liar back on his homeworld, and taking into account that he once cared for his people, it had been no small act on his part. The man had simply riled him one to many times, with his excessive draw on people and constant will to bring up things that once were. Those things, like many others, were scarcely a shadow in the back of the general's mind; dark secrets that were not intended to be revealed to him. He knew this to be true, for he was conscious of the lies they had told him. The imbeciles! Grievous had repetitively begged them in what had seemed to be his last breaths not to desolate his memoirs. But did those ungainly, money-crazed idiots listen to his suppliance? No! They had gone on to dismantle his most personal recollections, and so his very essence...

Thinking these issues over carefully, he shortly found himself at the prisoner's door. Turning fully around, he ordered strictly, "You are to stay out here. If you enter I will destroy you." With the sole purpose of getting it over with, he input the pass code and clasped his hands behind his back, anticipating the reaction that his quarry would give him.

Valuable seconds went by, and Grievous heard only his own inhalations. After what seemed perpetuity, there was a room before him, void of color and light. The listless, grey, metal walls rose to a height of approximately four meters¾twice his stature. A ceiling of bleak tiles sealed the space in blackness, each one the replica of the one beside it; each one a contributor to the tedium. The room was empty, excluding the lone target, who focused on the cyborg general with a diluted stare.

Grievous didn't take the trouble of activating the lights this time. He was definite he wouldn't be long. Keeping his eyes locked on the woman, he reached into his cloak and withdrew a single one of his trophy lightsabers. One of his warrior race deserved the honor of dying by such a weapon.

He spoke beguilingly as he moved towards her. "Your condition has improved somewhat. Excellent. I trust you have been _supported_?"

She was reticent, and answered in a very disinclined voice. "Yes. I have."

"Well, that is too bad then..." Grievous felt the frivolous chatter had gone on long enough, even if it had only been a mere minute. It was time for the end. He still kept his gaze on her, but conclusively triggered the green lightsaber in his left hand, the shaft of light descending from the hilt angled near the abruptly hassled female. "The wasted efforts to live have been in vain. This is your demise..."

The manifestation she gave him in her comeback was confused and affecting, and she buried her head in her arms.

Grievous, not wanting to slay apathetic prey, snapped, "Stop cowering and take it like a woman." He stepped even closer, holding the lightsaber so the tip was near the apex of her skull. "On your feet!"

She ignored him, peering up at him with one eye visible.

"I have my orders. Now stop that and make my job easier!" If only he didn't have so much blasted respect for his people!

He continued to be scrutinized, from his face to the weapon he held. The prisoner's fingers writhed as if she were strangling some invisible enemy, and there was a inimitable amount of emotion intermingled in with her detached, jarring tone. "You said I was to live!" She sat strait up, her back stiffly pressed against the wall. "You told me I was not to be killed!"

_She is right... But what do I care? I am not susceptible to monotonous cries for compassion from such a cruel soul... A day will come when the galaxy will weep at my feet; when all will beseech mercy... The despair... Dark obliteration..._

"I have no choice." Grievous's thought procession spun out of restraint in his head. "And frankly this is all a waste of my time."

"Would _you_ spare me?"

What was she saying? That she knew more then she appeared?

"I¾I have no choice!" He stuttered. "Stand, now!"

She obeyed.

Grievous tightened his grip on his lightsaber, raising it high above his head to strike her down...


	6. Perplexity

_**Hello all!!! I have returned to bring you another absorbing chapter of this story. As you probably have noticed, the Kaleesh woman lacks a name so far. I'm sorry if that bothers you in any way, but the one I supposedly made up has been used on this site already, so I JUST DON'T KNOW WHERE TO TURN!!! ---sobbing and groveling on the floor---. See, every single name or awesome dialogue line I come up with turns out to be in some movie I watch that very night! ISN'T THAT IRONIC?! It happens alot to me... 'Just my bad luck I assume... Ugg... **_

_**ENOUGH OF THIS BOREDOM!!! Here's the chapter for you all. It took me awhile to convert the ideas in my head and the already written stuff into words... but it had nothing to do with that I was near that same freaky sofa I spoke of before again... And that probably sounded completely stupid, but what do I care!? Randomness is what I **__**live **_**for!!!**

_**you enjoy it now ya hear?**_

**Chapter 6~Perplexity**

Her life passed before her eyes when she saw the vivid green blade. A distant remembrance of weaponry like it flashed into her mind; frightening. The brilliant foreign swords had brought much hardship to her race once. Though no one had died at the time, they without question would have been better off if so. Millions starved for what? The anathematized _Republic's_ "mediations" if any could call it that...

She had longed never to see such a cause of death ever again.

"What do you have to gain?" She inveigled, modestly calm for someone who was about to be bisected. Knowing that trying to quiet an angry monster was almost impossible, she decided that talking to him then wasn't the brightest idea.

The robotic creature didn't move, not providing any clues to his impulsive hiatus. There was some sort of mental conflict going on inside that synthetic head, and his attention flicked back and forth from her to a spot on the wall over her. He growled, sonorous and fearsome, reallocating into a more aggressive posture, lowering his weapon.

There was something; something in his eyes...

A crestfallen glitter. A window to the past. Whatever it was, it was holding him back from delivering the killing blow. Who _was_ this transmuted menace?! He never showed but the faintest hint of sentimentality, yet so much fanaticism was insinuated in his murder wants that it was difficult to tell if the minute trace of emotion in his intensely powerful, golden, eyes that reminded her so much of...

A mental picture of a man; daunting, with imposing muscle and strong features, came to her in that moment, when all else seemed to grow dim. He stood in an entrance, hooded face obscured to the world---the night before he disappeared.

In a millisecond, the leader stabbed forward faster then she could see, and precipitately, she cowered, covering her face with her raised arms.

The scent of melted alloy and circuitry hit her like a sudden gust of wind, and she could _feel _the heat, centimeters from the top of her cranium. The blade was repositioned after that, pointing down at the floor unthreateningly. He took a handful of unsteady strides in many directions, on the verge of subsiding. Stabilizing himself, he inspected his surroundings again, studying each irregular line or fixture with the attention of a scientist making a breakthrough. He faltered when he reached a point that was slightly off to the side of her. Slowly, as not to startle him, she risked a quick look. There was nothing to be seen...

When she returned to her fundamental position; completely and utterly strait in stance and remote outlook, she all but jumped.

He was standing perilously close, and he unexpectedly shoved her inelegantly into the wall, limiting movement.

"What---!"

The commander sent her a glare so deadly that she feared that _it _would be the cause of her death. "Do not move." He addressed in a depleted timbre. "Do not speak. Do not acknowledge me... This is being monitored..."

_Monitored...? They watch their captives on this ship...?_ "I am sorry I---"

Her sentence was cut short when he thrust out a hand, causing the back of her head to collide with the partition behind her; a punishment for her discountenance. His strange head swiveled back to the precise locality, and he continued without regarding her. "A security device. Specialized in heat receptions. It links to surveillance VDT's all over my ship..." Something more flickered to life in his eyes. "_Someone_... is watching this now, I know this to be true."

"How would you know that?" She hissed suspiciously, having no self-possession. "Were you _watching_ me!?"

"That holds no meaning at this time!" He said, half loudly. "There is no room for incompetence. You must listen to everything I say, regardless of how farcical it sounds; do you understand?"

She shifted uncomfortably. "I will as soon as you _get out of my face_."

He grumbled, displeased at her ingratitude. Drawing back, yet still keeping a hand on one of her shoulders to detain her, he optically examined the site of uncertainty. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his claws, analytically frozen to her collarbone. It was a bad composition to be in during such an uneasy time, wherein one small blunder could maim her unbearably.

His clenched fist suddenly collided with the spot he had been inspecting, the weapon still activated and clutched firmly, leaving a cavernous dent. "_Quickly_." He ordered, his gaze drained of all feeling. "Feign unconsciousness."

She gave him a baffled look. "What happened to _I have my orders_?"

"Blast it! Make up your mind!" There was a slight snarl fused in with the retort. "Do you want to live or do you not?! It is _ever_ so simple!"

"Yes! Yes, I would really like to live! But could you do me one simple favor?!"

"What!?" She could _feel_ the tension in his strident cadence.

"Disable that accursed weapon and stop shouting at me!!" The two anxious enjoinments were risky, and she knew what the possible outcome could be...

_Another cold, dead corpse to take away... leaving only a provisional imprint on the senseless... _

But he obliged both requests, astonishingly, ---yet gave the impression of wanting to do more then shout--- neutralizing the green light and placing the harmless hilt back in the cape pocket from whence it came. "Now," he said, "about that agreement..."

*-*-*-*-*-*

_What in the stars name does he think he is doing...?_ Thought Count Dooku when the display became nebulous. _He had better pray hard that I don't find that woman alive..._

Once he mulled some minor things over, he began to question himself on why he was so concerned. On balance, General Grievous was an exceptionally good leader; born with the desire for power imprinted on his brain---passed down from his warlord father. There were times when the great count would feel genuine pity for the amalgamated contrivance and his psychoses, for Dooku was conscious to how sorrow had wrought the once blithe soul.

Due to this substantial detail, Dooku was irresolute. Confronting the general _again_ would result in acts of violence, and, under the circumstances, the count didn't have any intention of fighting his minion on terms of disparity... yet.

His master would have more then a few unpleasant things to say about it if he ignored the conflict, and the _last _worry Dooku wanted was to let down his mentor.

He would take matters into his own hands.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Possessed by obstinacy, Grievous trekked through countless halls, clueless where to go from that point. He hadn't exactly had time to plan this out, so he was virtually making this up as he went.

Dooku would have surely found out by now and would be looking for him, so his pace was accelerated.

Unfortunately for Grievous, his grim teacher appeared much sooner then he wanted.

"So, you dare to show defiance against your superiors." Dooku said impersonally.

Grievous stared him down, mumbling curses. _Who does that feeble humans think he is...? Ordering me around as if he is better than I... He wants defiance...? I will show him defiance...! _But even he knew it was useless.

"_What _superiors?" He sharply rejoined. "All I see is _you_..."

Dooku's lifeless chuckle filled the empty hall. "And so he fails to remember yet something else of grave importance... Incapable of learning are we, general?"

"Learning capabilities do not concern me!" His intonation protracted the words in his growing rage. "Strength... Drive... The statistics accumulated within my mind are enough to conquer worlds and bring mortals to their knees, pleading for their sovereignty. I do not need your _teachings_."

"Whether you think you do or not, I did not track you down to argue with you."

"Oh?" Grievous played along, his fake curiosity much too obvious. "And what, may I inquire, do you wish for me to accomplish this day, hm? A hostile invasion perhaps? Or shall I select an indiscriminate planet and go slaughter all the politicians in attempt to convert the populace?"

The human laughed for a second time, even colder and more censorious then before. "I wouldn't ask something so complex of you so early in your instruction. You require much more tuition and knowledge in political affairs before you are assigned a world. Consider this your probation period, and in my book..." He nodded towards the hostage, whom Grievous had been carrying insensitively the whole time---crassly thrown over one arm. "...you are already failing."

"Need I remind you that this is _my _ship." Grievous's head canted up, attesting to his flaunting announcement. "Correct me if I am wrong, Count, but I do not recall ever placing you in command of it..." He waited, then carried on. "The woman," he stated, "I told her the life would not be taken from her. She _will _live."

"Will she now?" Dooku said dryly. To top it off, he seemed in one of the coarsest frames of mind yet in the short time Grievous had known him. "That, General, is an issue my Master will address. If you will follow me, I will see to it that you have a _private _audience with him."

Grievous, identifying a chance when there was one, still said with abundant conceit, "I do not follow..." And he trudged past Dooku with a wracked brain and heart.

*-*-*-*-*-*

He set the prisoner down in the shadows, not having time to give any instructions before Dooku came in after him, a most degraded materialization about him. Grievous strived to give one of the most dirty looks he could invoke before the hologram came to life---flickering repeatedly on the transceiver.

"Master," Dooku reworked his tone into that of approbation. "I have brought the General to speak with you."

_Idiot! _Grievous wanted very badly to strangle the count for that. _I came on my own! He alludes to me as if I were some sort of reclaimed pet!... _

"So it would appear..." Darth Sidious speculated the general, who stood firmly planted behind Dooku. With head erect and pose demoralizing, he was the ideal example of what a military officer should look like, and in Sidious's opinion, he found that Grievous's new body surpassed that of his mortal life. His traits, however, were unmatched by the course of time. He could still summon up a persuasive magnetism, which most found his most frightening characteristic. Sidious had plans to use that influence to gain many a world's endorsement someday, but for now, he would leave Dooku to shape what was left of Grievous into something far greater then ever before.

"General," Sidious grabbed the cyborg's attention, that looked as if it was lost in some other dimension. "Speak."

Grievous had been adrift in thought, much to his surprise, and wasn't so sure that his originally calculated speech would impress such a high power. To make matters worse, Dooku was still standing in front of him, expecting him to say something to his impatient master. He coughed slightly, a union of clearing his throat and relieving an annoying rough sensation caused by his constant rasping. "Forgive my frustration, my lord, but I was assured by Count Dooku that this would be an _undisclosed _meeting between my Master and I."

Dooku shook his head, scandalized. Did he really think that Grievous would ever _allow _him to go disagreeing with every little thing he said? After he heard the general's request, he would go off on a limb to rebuke it, and therefore sway his master to take _his_ side. Then... there would be nothing Grievous would say that would change the situation.

But Sidious understood, and in sequence said to his apprentice, "And that he shall be given, Count."

When Dooku was gone, Grievous declined forward, still alert but more comfortable than beforehand. "You have my recognition..." He told the Sith gratefully. There was no need to say anymore, Sidious got his silent implication. There was no hiding the preference. Sidious valued Grievous---or so he thought, and seeing as he never really had asked for much, it would be simple to convince the elderly man for a simple little favor. "The Count did not give me the chance to make clear my intentions."

"Then, please do so, General."

Grievous provided a little dip of his head, and prepared for the potential negative reaction. "Prior to this meeting, three spies came on to this vessel. Two were killed, and the one who lived was brought to me for questioning, however I did not have a chance to interrogate them accurately, for the reason that I was called by Count Dooku to make contact with you. My elite placed them in a storage room, that I later went to check on my rounds..." He had rather hoped the account would drag on longer... "I told the individual that they would live that day," in line, Grievous impulsively took a single step backwards and nimbly enclosed his malleable claws around the hostage's left ankle, wrenching her out into the visible range of his master, "I intend to stand by my word..."

His urge to keep his promise must have astounded Sidious, because he tilted his enshrouded head unpredictably, gawking rudely. He waited; studied for what seemed like hours to Grievous, and finally he replied in a relatively serene voice, "I see that she is Kaleesh... This will not develop into a problem will it, _General_?"

Grievous could think of some incredibly vulgar answers to the question, but then he would madden Sidious. "Only if your apprentice is angered by the objective. Provided that someone informs him of the conditions..." The fancy talk wasn't helping the already perturbed atmosphere. "No, my lord." He warranted. "Though I fail to see exactly _how _there could be a setback in this."

"Do not involve yourself in these things, my friend." Sidious's mouth curled down into an humanely sickening contortion. "You have been through too much misfortune to be stricken with any more." The man was silent for a long time, reflecting upon the general's history. He looked at Grievous pryingly, and it made the cyborg wonder if the Sith lord was trying to read his mind. He had heard impenetrable rumors about his master's abilities, but never in his life had he been the open subject of investigation---at least that was the way it appeared. "Honor your promise," Grievous was told. "But heed my words: if I hear _anything _about tribulations, from lord Tyranus, I will personally oversee this..._ captive's _death, with _you _as the executioner."

_You needn't worry about that... I merely assured her life, not said I would be her keeper... As long as she and her secrets do not leave this ship, I could not care less about where she goes! _"I realize that. Everything will be adequate to your wishes as long as there is no, _interference_ from Count Dooku."

"You doubt the Count's allegiance to you?"

Grievous huffed. "I do not doubt, I only state what I have seen..." That was a mistake; saying that, and he knew he had to fix it. "I am certain our differences will be resolved over time."

"Yes, they _will_." The Sith's head turned to the only other in the room. "Please, stand, you must be very uncomfortable on the floor I imagine..."

The Kaleesh woman moved to life, getting up. Grievous regarded her with an uninterested air about him, blinking and altering his bearing tautly. Sidious would probably have his head now for his dishonesty, and then the worthless Separatist Council would have to invest more credits into another _new _guinea pig for their soulless machine army. But no... The motives Grievous detected in his master were not of lethal intent. Sidious was... amused?

"Good day, _favored _one..." When she did not react in any way, he continued. "You should feel very providential. The General never usually spares his victims... You should be dead now."

She fixed her eyes on the cloaked human. "People like _you_ desire that."

The sentence had nothing unique in its wording, but something in her audacity sparked a fascination in Grievous. She dared to challenge a Sith? Incredible...

He stepped in. "If I may, I should very much like to withdraw to my quarters now. There is a great deal of consultation I must coordinate for impending takeovers." He then looked to the female beside him, taking care to grimace as best as he could. "I will have arrangements made for your accommodations. Unless you found that storeroom enjoyable...?"

She struggled with various competent rejoinders, finally deciding on one. "No, sir. I would be in your debt if I were to have a more agreeable environment if I must dwell on this craft. Thank you." She afterward smiled, which annoyed Grievous, who had no partiality to adulation of that nature.

Grievous bowed before Sidious, "I will maintain order in this establishment as long as I live, my lord. My dependability will be proven to you."

Sidious nodded a farewell, and his hologram disappeared.

"Come..." Grievous headed for the door. "Attest your worth..."


	7. Something Distinguishable

_**Finally! I thought I'd **__**never **_**get this done! It was rather hard combining the main story line with "side stuff". I never really planned on having this stuff in here... BUT! A few nights ago, I was up from a pulled muscle in gym, drowning in my thoughts of eminence, when... IT HIT ME! Literally! I hit my head on the wall!!! It sorta' progressed into a whole side story after that, and I figured it would only make this fic more interestingly moving if I added it... Many things have been set in motion that I can not even begin to comprehend at this time, and I anticipate the point where I can bring everything together. If you have trouble understanding it, I would be happy to explain it to you in emails and such, but for the sake of those who don't want the outcome given away, I WILL SHUT UP ABOUT THE MATTER!!! **

**Chapter 7~Something Distinguishable**

Weak wasn't an option on Kalee.

Poverty and death were rulers of the inhabitants. Those who lived in company with tribes were the ones who were more contented, while teeming nomads scrounged their lives out of the deep jungles and ample water sources. Contained by the dark shadows were flesh-eating predators, picking off the meager and young. Trails of bloody accounts followed migrant groups wherever they went...

Males had it tough---a life of conflict and hierarchy governed their existence. The philosopher's arbitration with the gods in the days of old orchestrated violent rivalry between them. Unnatural acts of hostility to them was as likely as peace would be to others. The adolescents would spend their childhood years working to sharpen their mental and physical strengths, until the day when they took on adulthood.

None of that for females. Their route was a more placatory one: through an inherent nature and learned skills. Their lives were simple, and their only significant task was to carry on the family line in their descent.

Scattered throughout the vast, uncultivated lands were the ruins of great battles; wars fought by the sacred forbearers. Trees escalated to heights of unimaginable magnificence, concealing dwindling waterfalls, niches and skeletal remains of both the native Kaleesh and their ancient enemies. Mountains riddled the ground, and beyond the ragged crags and foothills lied deep oceans and seas. It was said that the resilience of the indigenous symbolized primitive struggles---before all the conflict; the animosity. The hypothetic views were the origin of many diverse beliefs, amassed in the minds of the civilized and reverential.

Consecrated temples rose high above even the most lofty of trees, their summits seeming to reach upward to the heavens themselves. Within the central foundations were dozens upon dozens of burial chambers, some filled, and some empty. Deities had once been laid to rest in the majority of the shrines, so their souls might find rest in the afterlife. Those persons were part of the pantheon now; the deities whom the ravenous came to the temples to plead their hunger upon.

For Yeiro, he found every breath he took a miracle in and of itself. Little was known about him, but he made it a point to keep it that way. At the young age of fifteen, he reveled in his growing power. He was a strong, able-bodied boy, on the brink of manhood. His thick, black hair hung freely about his shoulders, plated in many sections, and his sharply clawed hands were ones that could either stifle the life out of an unfortunate victim, or help a young child with a simple task. He had scars all over from various encounters with males of his same age, and it would only get worse as he got older. It would have been nice to have a fond relative through it all...

But he was alone.

Alone in a cruel, cruel world.

A foundling to his mother.

His father...

Gone. _Long _gone.

The infancy he had no memory of tore at his heart. Who was he? Was he more than just an abandoned child? More than a lonely boy who grew up without ever knowing his father? More than---

His thoughts troubled him; broke him down more and more every day.

Longings for a different life devoured him, and each time he closed his eyes, he saw only lingering images. Some were of a distinct, male figure---the only time he ever saw his father. Others, still, were of his adoptive mother, with her constant droll remarks. Yeiro would spend long hours staring up into space, questioning the feelings of those who once told him they cared... only to abandon him like this.

He roamed the disheveled, rustic village, keeping a stone cold expression and not meeting the gazes of bystanders. Every single being around him was worryingly thin. Not a soul was eating well, and Yeiro pitied them. Their emaciated bodies proved the affecting reality: they were all dying---slowly but surely.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Grievous drummed his fingers indifferently, nearly in a state of rest. He _was_ aware that the woman who's life he had just tentatively saved was standing mere feet from him, ocularly analyzing him with a mixture of intrusive absorption and fear. He ignored the feeling of being watched, and continued to allow his senses to slip away. The light clacking his finger tips made on the metal slowly drew to a close and he lost himself for a moment, vision becoming distorted. All light grew to be a vagueness to him, and although his eyes were still open, it felt comparable to a similar state he went into if he closed his eyes. Dark shapes clouded the discolored, delusional world; hallucinations that only one in his frame of mind would be able to even remotely comprehend. He felt his eyelids start to droop shut, and he immersed himself in darkness. Then there was a---

"Is... something wrong?" A gutturally feminine voice echoed faintly through his drifting reason. "Sir...?"

He cracked open one eye, wincing at the light, despite the fact that actual illumination was limited. She was knelt down opposite to him, in a position that almost made it look like a worshipful indication. _That would be the day! _Grievous instantly let his sight clear, transitorily diverted at his little inside speculation.

"Is there a particular _reason_ why you are sitting there staring at me?" He asked, bending forward to hang over her threateningly. General Grievous was one who made a great effort to plaster his eccentricity all over the brains of untried personnel. In the case of the specific person, they weren't even technically considered "personnel". She was more... _living cargo_, from Grievous's viewpoint. The woman was only breathing because of her race, and for nothing else...

She shuffled in reverse, half-dragging herself away, giving him a wide berth. "Uh... No sir! I was uh--- just wondering what you were doing."

"Well, now you know. So silence your insolent blathering and get off the floor!" He decided to add spitefully, "You _look _like a pathetic _vagrant_."

Scrambling to arise, as not to awaken his temper, she halted directly into an attentive posture. Traces of an inclination for sarcasm remained on her face, but excluding that, she was more deadpan than anything. At that juncture, his notice flicked to a burnished object around her neck. Was it the same adornment he had been on the brink of taking? There was only one way to know for certain.

"The pendant you convey; I want to see it." It was a very simple command, yet the way she took it made it seem like he had just told her to go take her own life. For a minute she just looked dumbfounded, distractedly holding onto the dull gold article as if she would somehow die without it. It frustrated Grievous that she was indisposed to give consent, and it gave him unbalanced ideas on _why. "Do not make me get up to appropriate it from you." He extended a hand, beckoning her to relinquish it, expecting that she would since most of his subordinates knew better then to resist his requests. Normally, people would have been tickled to be around the general when he was in such a nonaligned mood, but this woman was no such thing. In the short term she had been around Grievous, he had discovered that she was a unconcerned character, who never truly cared about anything, even though she made it seem that way at times. But this occasion, she most definitely worried over her only possession of worth._

_He finally grew tired of waiting, and wordlessly ordered his MagnaGuards; his armed sentinels, to commandeer the necklace-like item from her. Grievous observed heartlessly, rolling his eyes at the incommodious nuisance that could have been avoided if she had only taken the easy route. The droids had trouble, and to the cyborg's disbelief, she nearly rendered his guards inoperative by the time they had succeeded in acquiring it---one of the gray colored machine's red "eyes" flickering redolently. When Grievous glanced at her, she looked mad, but leered diminutively, jerking her head up self-satisfactorily. The show of partial narcissism was ephemeral, and before long she ridiculed._

"_Why must you insist on being so callous?!"_

"_For the same reasons you do," he counteracted. He snatched the chain from the droid. "I am accustomed to getting what I want, when I want it. And I do not have to tolerate inopportune nonsense from my subsidiaries..." _

_The object in his hand shimmered. A meticulous insignia on the axis struck him as one of the most impressive ones he had ever seen, and oddly, one of the most recognizable... The four contrary points spanning across the surface resembled that of a god representation---a heraldic sign engraved in many of Kalee's sacred temple walls. The jagged apexes on each separate point slanted inward, shaping an acute pinnacle. Around the symbol were symmetric markings; tiny etchings, slightly reminiscent of an ancestral configuration. Once, Grievous had an ensign much like this one. He never had known what had ever happened to it... He always assumed he had, by some means, lost it after the calamity back on his homeworld. How had she ever come to obtain such a rarely bestowed entity? _

_Grievous maintained control over his increasing mental questions about this female, peering up at her without raising his head. This way, it made it appear as though he was icily scowling, when he was in actuality studying her punctiliously---aiming to make ends meet. Curiosity gained an advantage over him, fabricating strong intent..._

_In the interim, he would hold on to the object, at least until could remember what happened to his own. _

_Little did Grievous know how long it would be in the end... _


	8. Human Assistance

**After much consideration, I have decided that I'm using the name that I said has been used before. Sorry if it belongs to any of you reviewers. I don't know, I never have time to check... NOTE: I'm not just using it because "Chuck" threatened to murder me if I didn't. I just like the name and I came up with it myself before I even started handwriting this story in a simple green binder last December... It all fits together... wait till' you find out how this ends up... BWA HA HA HA!!! ****J**

**(Yes, it was before I got my laptop and **_**ever**_** got on the internet.) **

**Chapter 8~Human Assist**

_Well that was rather unanticipated... _

She eyeballed the little droids as they flurried past her, not paying her heed at all. "Um..." She tried to catch an incoming one's notice.

It stopped only for a second, before nipping, "Out of the way prisoner." Then it pushed past her.

_Oh, so I am a "prisoner" again_... _Thank you General, for telling them that I am permitted to go wherever I wish_...

The commander had, indeed, informed her that she could rove around his ship, as long as she didn't attempt to escape, which she punctually guaranteed. This, naturally, was to a degree, a lie on her part. She would _try _to get away if a moment presented itself. It probably never would though...

She was faltering on where to go. This was an enormous ship, and if she just walked around, who knew how many hours her aimless wandering could go on. For awhile she stayed out of sight; hanging about tactfully in the dark places.

Her only reminder of home had been pocketed from her, and for the first time in her life, she felt absolutely forlorn and nostalgic. The necklace hadn't belonged to her. It was conferred to her following the bereavement of its original wearer. She had been found alone in a tavern, sitting somberly in a back corner, by the one who had given it to her. Her story wasn't as intriguing or magnanimous as most around her. The droids likely had better life stories than her! But she had witnessed many battles, and it was enough excitement for her in a lifetime. Since she had ran into the individual who had imparted the decoration, life had been on the up... until she had made the dreadful mistake of leaving Kalee and coming aboard this diseased ship.

Deadened laughter resonated faintly down the hall she ended up in, and she crept up to the opened door to investigate who the voices' owners were.

She found four, amphibian comparable aliens in a staff lounge type of environment. They were all seated around a table, two moderately involved in a game of dejarik, while the other two watched languidly. From the outward appearance, they didn't seem strategically proficient enough to be amusing themselves in such a convoluted, taxing leisure. They looked more like the species who would rather be loitering around on city streets.

They sure didn't seem the violent type, so she risked speaking.

"Excuse me?" She asked in an extra polite voice.

The four turned their heads in unison, ogling with large, maroon eyes. "How did you get here?" One demanded cautiously, his tone on the alarmed side. "How did you get passed all the security?"

"It was a small inaccuracy on my part, you see---"

"Wait!" The one closest to her cut her short, glancing at the faces of his associates. "The General; she belongs to him. _She _was who Count Dooku was so irate about."

She was about to correct the alien for making such an understatement; about to tell him strait out that she didn't _belong_ to anyone or anything, especially not the uninviting reprobate who ruled this ship. But she knew that making a comment like that could result in her termination. "Forgive me, Count...?" She stopped to wait, unfamiliar with the name. "I do not remember meeting him."

"Be thankful. The Count is rumored to be behind the orders for his metal monstrosity to kill you. He is a corrupted man..." He trailed off, eyes widening even more.

She wondered about this until she heard the spontaneous _tsk_ing from behind her.

"Now, now, now, let's not be so quick to judge." The deep voice made the four turn back to their diversions. "Your simple minds would not be able to process the complicated purposes behind what is my validation."

The lack of feeling in the surrounding atmosphere sent chills through her, and she repressed a shudder. She didn't want to move. She didn't want to see the man. She wanted to run, but that would have been the spineless course, and she had been taught otherwise. With one final look at the frightened ones, she slowly circled around.

He was an aged, male, human with silvery hair on his head and face. Amber colored eyes stared back at her through way of hard skin tone and the pretense of inhuman strength. She knew at once, that this man; Count Dooku, was not a mere human.

Her main suggestion as to this, was the way he influenced those poor aliens.

Inhospitality reduced quickly, and he took up a more tranquil air. "I am most sorry," he said. "I do not believe I have had the pleasure yet."

When he offered his hand, she was fascinated to find that these humans had five fingers, opposed to four, as she herself had. She shook his hand, and found his grip to be much too strong for a normal elder. "I have heard so much about you over the past few days, and I so hoped I would be able to make your acquaintance." He continued, just about optimistically. "It is a rare thing to see one of your nationality all the way out here in military regions."

Gesturing out into the hall, she left the comfort of the room. She walked beside him, keeping stride with only minimal difficulty. She hadn't said anything to him yet, and let him keep speaking until he asked her a question that deserved an answer. "May I ask why you journeyed so far from Kalee?"

It shocked her that he knew her race. Nobody usually recognized a Kaleesh when they saw one. _I guess that proves how learned this guy is_... "How do you know of my planet?"

"A very simple deduction of your appearance, my dear woman. Frayed wear. Telltale reptilian features. An obvious lack of adaptation to the pressures concerning the art of restructured warfare.. It all gives it right away. I for one was stunned when I ascertained that such an interesting ethnic group was not in the public class annals."

She felt so powerless against him. Count Dooku had everything on his side: knowledge, strength, people skills... And she had nothing but a flair for making mordant remarks at any given time. "I wonder why that was." She put in, just to make it look like she was paying attention.

He laughed quietly, from what she could tell to himself, before saying, "So... how does it feel knowing you are obligated to stay here and exert yourself under our beloved General?"

She just shrugged awkwardly. "To tell you the truth, sir, it frightens me greater then anything I have ever shown anxiety to..."

Dooku nodded. "That is good..." It puzzled her, and she waited for him to explain. "The General wants that from you. His furthermost wish is for everyone in this galaxy to fear him. He desires most your respect, and after that, loyalty. You must realize something; not a soul hitherto has been, shall we say, the most _dependable_ to him. All he has to work with are droids, though fitting to such an _outrage_, even I must admit that they are not much when it comes to reliability."

"They shot my companions..." She murmured to herself in a snarl. _Demonic machines..._ "You do not need to tell me anything about _them _sir. I have witnessed first hand how utterly cursed they are."

"Yes, they are rather unpredictable aren't they? Those demonic machines of yours..."

If she hadn't known better, her mouth would have dropped open. So this guy could read minds too?! Now all he needed was immortality and he was ready to go! "Well---um---yes---um..."

"It is quite alright, Athela." Now, she gaped. "I know it must be hard to grasp why all of this is happening to such a blameless person such as yourself, but there is a reason in all of this, and you will soon find out..."

"H---how could you possibly---You could never---How do you know my name!?"

Dooku looked over at her. "I know many things about you, Athela Erihdiy, in all probability more then you know of yourself... I have a high regard for weapon crafters." He smiled uncongenially. "Pity a skilled artist has to end up slaving under such a _disgrace to life_."

Athela stared hard at the floor as she walked. In actual fact, she hadn't planned on giving her name to anyone, for her own safety. "I do not know about _that_, sir. Yes, your robotic leader may be a bit misinformed... but calling him a disgrace..."

He laughed again. "You have no knowledge of him do you?"

She shook her head.

"Well then, I am sure he will, _ahem_, tell you about himself in time... You shouldn't have come here, you know."

Athela sighed, "Yeah... It was my own idiocy. I should never have believed he was alive..."

"Who?" Dooku professed questionability. "Surely they couldn't be _that _important for you to have to endure such misfortune."

He obviously _would _know who he was, since he knew _everything_, but she concluded that she couldn't utter his name within these walls. "Misfortune...? No, sir. Not that... It will all be restored once this is over." _When I am once again undivided... _

That was the end of the conversation. After awhile, Athela began to think that this human, could give her the answers she sought. He was visibly informed of every topic to do with fighting, and probably could go a few rounds himself if pitted against a creditable opponent. The man had said that the commander would let her in on his mysteries sooner or later, accordingly telling her to _wait_.

She was shown to a larger storeroom, and allowed to _walk _inside this time, in preference to being thrown inside by those huge bodyguard droids. While she browsed around the currently empty space, the question of how she was ever going to get back to the general's quarters came to her. But when she turned around to ask the man, there was nobody there.

He was gone, and it was as if he had never been there...

*-*-*-*-*-*

Yeiro stumbled out the door, flouting the laughing that followed him. Freshly lacerated, every step he took brought a wave of excruciating pain to vital support lesions, leaving a trail of hemorrhage behind him. His head pulsated by the loud beating of his heart, and one eye was critically inflamed.

_Yeah that's right! Laugh it up… Wait a few years and you'll be the ones limping away with ruptured pride…! _He considered going back, but that would only complicate matters for the worse.

There was nowhere to turn now. He couldn't go home, because then he would be utterly on his own. He couldn't just go knocking at anyone's house, asking to be let in---no one would take him. And he could never stay out in the freezing cold of night, braving the marauders and drifters. He dropped down at the base of a large tree and groaned, aching for his parents. He was almost a man, but he still wanted to hang on to the past; painless and carefree.

People passed him, looking at his injured self with confused gazes. They most certainly knew who he was, yet they never took the time to help him! The sadism! The nerve!

Surveying the transitory onlookers, he suddenly had the urge to call out, "Thank you. Thank you all for seeing that I am dying here!" It was so sarcastically put that they all stopped looking at him all together, and absolutely ignored him.

"Don't count on aid from those conceited idiots…" Came a deep, unwelcoming voice from the other side of the tree. "They never help me and they'll never help you."

Yeiro slid around to be met by a middle aged male, who reserved a moment to push the matted, black dreadlocks from his face. Disfigurements ran seemingly from end to end of his face, and Yeiro noted with much unease that they were self-inflicted, to imitate the ceremonial blood markings on the war masks his race employed. He wore only a tattered, long skirt-like garment around his waist, showing his powerfully built torso that, like Yeiro's had many scars. He was once a soldier, no doubt.

"Why?"

"_Why_?!" He was laughed at again. "Why he says… 'Cause they're fools, kid! _Blasted_ fools! They show no compassion for the homeless… They're too concerned with their own comfort."

"Oh," Yeiro corrected him. "No. I am not living in destitution… I have rich allies that I depend on." He frowned deeply. "Lately though… they have not been of much assistance."

"I'll say." The man eyed him, disturbed at his state. "Got yourself into a fight did you?"

"Yes…"

Yeiro assumed he was going to get reprimanded, but the actual reply astonished him. "There's a good boy. Scrap off your mistreatment; clash with the best of 'em." He stood slowly; dizzily up. "_Then_… you'll get the respect that I never got…" Wobbling, he started away, "See you around, kid…"

Just then, as the man's back was turned. did Yeiro notice the twin brand marks on both of his shoulder blades. Four-pointed outlines on a circular figure were permanently burned into his skin, symbolizing only one thing…

"Wait!" Yeiro bolted up after him. "Hold up!"

The man stopped to let him catch up. "Forget somethin' did we?"

Yeiro looked up at him, studying his worn face. "You were in the Huk War. You were a commander."

He smiled. "That I was, kid." He paused to sigh, evoking memories. "That I was..." His expression grew more grave. "But things change as quickly as they come... "

"I do not understand." Yeiro probed. "I always was told that the commanders got it good. They lived in luxury while all the rest of us died. Is this not true?"

"Is it not true?! Of course it's _true_! I was an aristocrat... once... Then everything changed."

"What happened?"

He quickly skimmed the area around them, "Not here. My name finds no place among the living, kid. Come with me."

*-*-*-*-*-*

Yeiro followed the aberrant man, until they arrived at a small shelter, hidden within the gloom of the trees. It was simple, constructed of a solid formation with various animal hides positioned on top of that. How this had been built without at least one person seeing it was out of the young man's league. This stranger had many tricks, and Yeiro wasn't sure whether to trust him, or run now and report him.

He didn't act as though he would harm Yeiro, but with their race, he could never tell...

"Well...?" He asked after awhile. "I followed you like you asked! Now talk!"

Yawning, the man said, "_First_ of all... Do you fear what I am about to tell you?"

"Well... I do not know... It would help if you _told _me first before I decided things like that!"

"In that case... I would sit back and relax while you still can." Yeiro complied and sat down slowly, watching the stranger for fear that he would turn on him. "Well then... So you want to know about my life do you?"

"Yes. I do! I have never spoken to a true commander before!"

"Are you sure about that?" The outsider picked up a small stick and twirled it around back and forth through his fingers, which made Yeiro think that he once must have done the same with knives. Yeiro opened his mouth to speak, but nothing would come to him. Had he ever verbalized with one of the leaders? His father went away for long periods of time; years, allegedly, but Yeiro had never been told why... It was _possible_ that he had been caught up in the war. But a _commander_? "See? You don't know that, kid! I mean... really, all of us have at least _seen_ one of our great military officers once in our lives... In my case not on the most pleasant of terms..."

"Something happened between you and another combatant?" Yeiro was anxious to know who this man was and how he ended up in the state he was in. "Who? What was it?"

"You're an eager little guy aren't you? Thank the gods that I have _patience_..." He mumbled something coarse about teenagers and snapped the twig he was fooling around with in half. "That was what I wanted to do to that defector's neck..." He said, before throwing the two halves of the stick to the ground. "You positive you want to hear this? You might regret it afterward."

"_Yes_ I want to _hear _it!" Yeiro said, exasperated. "I did not tag along with you to _sightsee_!"

Backing against one of the thick structural supports of his home, he slid down onto the ground, preparing to explain. "The war was ending," he began, "and we had almost massacred the last of them. This was back when we took our troops over to their side of the system, in attempt to wipe them out completely. The contingents of our armies survived, but it would have been better if they had been killed that day... Barbarous lifeforms of all species came on our world. 'Said they were "conscientious objectors" come from some world near the Galactic Core... They made us forfeit; forced all these _promises_ and immaterial _oaths_ on us... They were in the wrong there, my friend, oh so wrong! They were foolish enough to believe we would listen! I tried to convince them otherwise; tried to _warn_ them that..." He paused, looking away, the casting long shadows on his face. "That there would be no conformity... But would they listen to me? They thought my attempts were futile! I was snubbed because of our ethicality! Racists!"

"When did all this happen? I never was told of such things."

"Kid, you weren't even around then. It happened many years ago... before everything took a turn for the worse." Yeiro was given a look that said it all: _you've been warned. Back out now while you have the chance. The secrets I have will cause you only pain_. He didn't heed it, and motioned for him to go on. "Formerly, I encountered a young soldier when out on a hunt with a friend of mine. He was tough; headstrong; and as good a man with words as he was with aggression... But he was lonely. This drove him into erratic rages, in which he once even killed a newborn who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I taught him all I knew, but nothing would ever calm him. Except _one_ thing..."

"What was that?" _And what did that first bit have to do with anything..._?

"You're a smart kid, you'll figure it all out eventually. For years we fought side by side," the man didn't miss a beat. "We headed campaigns and partnered in missions. There were seven of us---each a commander; each a uniformly powerful being. They worshiped us, and welcomed us into their temples. None ever exceeded further then my old novice though... He grew to be a proclaimed figure of adoration. "He's the deliverer" they said! "He will lead us into victory" they said! And what did that make me, huh? I was left behind to stand in his shadow... While he crushed all _my_ efforts with one---single---movement!"

"Efforts? I do not underst---"

"I tried to reason with him, but he wouldn't listen! Like so many others! I became furious; like my war- brothers, and we plotted against him, naturally. We did everything in our power to stop his madness, until they all gave up and succumb to his influence. I was not brought down that easily, and doubled my exertion to level him; put 'im back in his rightful place. My comrades mistook my concern for jealousy, and _laughed _at me! They spit in my face and told me to suck it up! It got to the point where I couldn't stand looking at the man anymore. Then. Well... then...? Then I made the mistake of provoking him. I toyed with his emotions, and he threatened to end my life if I did it again... he had the strength to do so, I never doubted. All of this tension came to its climax one night, many years later."

The long silence was forbidding, and Yeiro waited to know what the commander this man spoke of did that was so terrible. He found it unsettling, knowing that the stranger had lived through it all, just to get himself so upset over it. And he _was _upset. He quivered as he spoke, and looked as if he wanted someone to strangulate to get the vehemence out of him. All guises were gone from their original meeting, and Yeiro now saw the real soul behind a semblance of idiosyncratic happiness.

Yeiro listened conscientiously as he continued. The man's voice faltered in his struggle to control his rising furor. "He killed them." He spat out, almost incoherently.

"Who? The other commanders?!"

He received a nod in return. "Slit their throats while they were sleeping."

"But you---you are _alive_!" Yeiro's state developed into one of puzzlement. So there _had_ been treachery long ago. His mother often spoke of such things, but mostly kept her adopted son in the dark about such topics in Kalee's history. "How is that viable?!"

"Kid," his hand's curled into fists. "The man was inconsolable. The suffering... I can't even imagine going through all he did. I hate his guts, but I will admit that I pitied 'im in the end... He had gone too far down the road then, and the inevitable occurred. We had been on the same terms for awhile before the murders. _That _was why he spared me. I had helped him. I helped him when the others shunned him because they though he had gone insane, even after they sided with him, and he repaid me with my life... Heh... Funny, how much he grew to remorse that choice..." There was a few minutes of complete quiet, like before. "We had been corresponding for awhile, and I eventually went to see 'im after arriving home from a battle that lasted several months.

"He had been relaxing when I showed up on his doorstep. We got into a long conversation about how we wished our lives had turned out, and..." The sentence was ended quickly. "He revealed some very personal information to me that day... I sympathized for 'im, only to have it slammed back at me when he took my empathy for insincerity... A few years before, I had done some things; faults that he could never forgive, and they were brought up to me for the first time since... Since _certain events were transpired_... We got into a fight, which ended up turning into a ritualistic fight to the death. It was a bloodbath, and I didn't escape without scars..." Yeiro saw him absentmindedly brush his fingers over a long scar on his arm. "To sum it up, I went into hiding, and shortly was found and brought to him... He had been hunting for me. His eyes were always searching... always watching... He got together his gang of mercenaries and took me to a remote location, where they buried me alive..."

Buried alive!? He couldn't have lived! "How did you survive through _that_." Yeiro asked, sarcastic for such a serious moment.

"Ha, ha. Very funny, kid!" This man was just as acerbic! "You'll find I am not all I seem..."

_Well that's a scary thought_...

"So. Are you satisfied now! I told you! Now will you stop bugging me about it!"

He had changed back to his normal personality. "Yes... Who was that man you spoke of? Indisputably I would have heard of him if he was so notorious."

"You don't know of him because your dear mother never wanted to bring it up. She never wanted to imprint such a sad tale upon the mind of her defenseless son."

"You knew my mother? How?"

"Let's just say she knew other people that I knew, therefore making me acquainted with her in a way..." When he saw the confused expression on Yeiro's face, he said simply, "I met her _once_. She was a fine woman if I ever saw one..."

"But she _did_ know that man?"

"Why must you ask so many questions! You must be aware that at fifteen, you will soon be considered a man among your kin!" He smirked charismatically, despite Yeiro's surprise. "Gotta' be a good example for your kids, right?" Yeiro heaved a sigh. "Yeah... she knew 'im... _Well_, from what I gather..."

"And he was not cruel around her was he?"

"No! Ancestors no! Females---he liked 'em. Liked their attention... He was _real nice to your mother so I heard..."_

"_May I know his name?"_

"_His name...?" The indistinct tone was allayed with sadness. The words that followed told it all, explained everything unclear to Yeiro; explained the anguish, the dejection, and ire that he had been contained in the aforementioned account. It initiated so many other questions that the young man thought he would detonate if he didn't ask them all in seconds flat. But it also said something... and that something was a yearning to erase all the despondency that now filled his mind. "He called himself Grievous."_


	9. Labeled

_**I had some extra time this week so I decided to write another chapter**_

_**I've been working very hard on this for the past few weeks, and I seem to never**_

_**be able to work things out the way I envision them. You see, distinguished readers, and... **__**"Chuck" **_**I already have ALL of this typed, and I wish I could simply copy and paste it, but unfortunately, most of it isn't up to my current standards... So... I don't really know why I just told you that...**

**My main problem with this story is, that most people have gotten over their **_**Star Wars**_** obsessions, and do not care to read stuff about the G-dawg and all those other awesome characters anymore. This sometimes depresses me, cuz I know for a fact that alot of people will never read this as opposed to if I uploaded it in say... **_**2005**_** like **_**everyone else**_**. But back then I had no knowledge of this site and probably wouldn't have been aloud to go there even if I had been on the internet before...**

**I'M BEGGING YOU! I NEED REVIEWS! I WILL ADD OR PUT IN ANYTHING YOU ASK! JUST REVIEW FOR ME!!!**

**Chapter 9~Label**

_Second level in hallway 274. Third door on the left... _Grievous stood in front of the prisoner's new space. _Prisoner...? What an irregular alias... _

The general still didn't know her real name, and found it absurd to _ask_, for he was biased to such pleasantries as 'names' and 'headings'. His prejudice views were neither formed out of personal disdain or materialized from the beliefs of others around him. He simply wasn't the kind of lifeform that liked to call people by their names. Military designations suited him well enough, but given that the woman lacked any rank in such a blood-loving society, he found himself feeling very baffled about the matter. He shouldn't have---it was beyond him. Grievous was the perfect candidate for examples of what a leader should look like, and he was concerning himself over what he should refer to the "prisoner" as! Liberality wasn't one of his strong points, and he contended with various offensive terms that he could put to use when he gave a command and collected no feedback in return.

The idiom "you" seemed to have a creative streak to it.

Others, he chose to keep locked away in his mind. No harm in saving certain tags for later...

Entering the pass code quickly that he had learned hours earlier when he had been notified that his hostage had relocated with the help of Count Dooku, he took notice that she was sleeping quite soundly on the floor. This area was as vacant as the other, but if she wanted that...

_Indolent female... If she only knew how many people I killed in their sleep she would be trembling in terror right now... _

He went up to her and kicked her awake... hard.

"Where's the enemy! Wha-where are they! I'll rip their dirty heads off for you!" She exclaimed. For a second she laid there, wild eyed, before sitting up and almost hitting her head on the cyborg's leg in the process. "Oh, ancestors no! Please no! I thought this was all a nightmare!" Intermittently, she snatched one of his six fingered hands and jerked him down towards her, hissing, "Tell me you are only a hallucination!"

Grievous, unnerved by the fact that he allowed himself to be handled so easily, pulled away, trying to regain control of the situation. _I have only been in here a moment and she behaves as if she has lost her common sense! _"I will say no such thing! I have little time for this irrationality. Follow me."

"Someone's over-ambitious..."

He looked fiercely over his shoulder, like he did many times when he was irritated. "You think _this_ is over-ambitious?! I will show you _over-ambitious_ you little---"

"Sir?" The voice of a battle droid cut short his slur.

"_What_?! What do you _want_?!" He roared, knowing full well this was just the start of one of his violent mood swings. He could do nothing to manage the way his disposition changed. It was like weather. It came and went, but nobody could ever control it. They had tried to restrain him. They had tried everything they thought was reinforced enough to withstand his strength. Nothing never worked, and he ended up destroying many droids and even some mortals in his efforts to escape the clutches of episodic wrath.

The confused droid suddenly said warily, "Hey! This isn't the maintenance center..."

Both Grievous and woman looked at each other, for virtually the first time on the same terms. The droid's head shot back and forth rapidly, and it continued by saying. "What should I do now?"

"What should you do?" Grievous repeated mockingly. "Do you want to know?"

The droid made a head movement close to that of a nod.

The general signaled for it to lean in. "Come closer and I will tell you..." He said in a low, influential growl. When the droid was mere inches from him, Grievous cackled maliciously, "Just die and get out of my way," and he crushed it's artificial skull and separated it from the rest of its body. Then looking over to the woman, he stated amusingly, "No need to rip any heads off for me... That is _my_ job; you will learn... Pray that your's will not be next."

She acknowledged him nervously and came up behind him, abiding by his instruction. Grievous considered it a miracle that he only needed to make one small threat and she followed his order. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all...

_No! Thinking things like that could kill me in the end... _He thought, making sure that she was cowering at his heels in respect.

She wasn't.

She was lagging behind... deliberately, he imagined.

After a few minutes of this, he swung around, "Keep up or go end it." His tetchy pressure on the matter recaptured more then a little alarm from her, and she responded by moving a hint closer, but gradually fell behind again. _Fine, let her lose her way! She _can_ die for all I care... _But _did _he care? Somehow, he rather enjoyed the exchanges of verbal hostilitythat went on between them. It proved she wasn't weak. If there was one thing Grievous couldn't tolerate, it was a sniveling coward; for instance that opprobrium: Viceroy Nute Gunray. The Neimoidian had only one passion, and that was the amount of credits in his pocket. His precious Trade Federation's pathetically ineffectual droids made him filthy rich, and he kept his wealth no secret to those he regularly flaunted to.

The woman who followed him, contrasting this point, wasn't a _coward _per se... She was just frightened by the general's fearsome superiority, as were most. He recognized a fighter when he saw one, and judging by the assortment of daggers and four swords that the droids had impounded when she had been captured, she was no stranger to the art of war. He remembered being lost in thought when he held the polished blades up before his eyes, wordless at the elegance of the weapons he had once used as catalysts of destruction. There was something else too. Something evocatively unforgettable about them, and Grievous underwent severe melancholy in his useless tries to retain information.

Grievous located an elevator and waited for clearance. She stayed a good many meters away, leaning against an opposite wall, expression both composed and tired. When he finally got the go ahead, he muttered some detached vulgarity under his breath and stepped inside the quickly opened doors. He failed to see why he needed _permission _to go anywhere on _his _ship, but there was a purpose to everything, so he had found early on in his life, and it was his job to abide by certain things, even if he found them completely ridiculous. His gaze flicked to his female adherent, who looked around like the monotonous steel walls were the most incredible thing she had ever seen---presumably a way to ignore him.

"Get in." He said quickly, not showing any other feeling then the urge to be obeyed.

Her eyes widened, telling him what she dared not. _You're crazy_. "You are joking right?"

It was his turn to be the derisive side of the argument. "Yes, I am... _Get in_."

Grievous heard her complaining---although he decided ultimately not to bring it up---and couldn't help but conjecture what her problem was. If she gambled rebelling in contrast to his every word, why would she let such a little thing like standing alongside him in an elevator lessen her audacity. His best bet was that she was being put out of her comfort zone, or just didn't like the idea of being in a space that was roughly five feet wide, with a cyborg general that killed for _fun_. _That _would make anyone significantly perturbed, so he surmised after observing her anxiously erratic shifting from one leg to another.

The whole rest of the time, she stayed tightly pressed back in the corner farthest from him. Grievous, a few times, diverted himself by making sudden movements, causing her to flinch. He even took out one of his lightsabers once, flipping it over just to scare her. He ran his slender digits over the delicately engraved hilt, admiring every feature of the agile weapon. The creator of the lightsaber, even if a Jedi, must have been an excellent craftsman with an eye for grace and sophistication. But he had been a pitiable excuse for an opponent, and the only reason his sword had any impact on the killer was because it was suggestive of a master designer.

_Such an attractive piece of weaponry... Pity the maker was a renegade traitor... _He thought, letting it slip from his claws back into its institution in his cloak. A sigh of relief came from the back right corner, and he stifled a chuckle. "Do you honestly believe that after all the effort I have gone through, that I would _really_ kill you now?"

"Yes." She countered faintly. "Yes, I truly believe that you would."

"Then you are a fool. It is true, I do not make a custom of sparing those who I find aboard my ship, and you know more then you should, but there are times when I feel that _certain _individuals deserve mercy. You live because you are not human. The humans I have killed are a great number, and their blood grows jaded to me, but in view of the fact that your race is so..._deprived_ and cut off from the rest of the galaxy, I consider it quite reasonable to allow you to continue living." He twisted slightly, contemplating her. "I would not question my word if I had a choice."

She looked back at him, saying, "That was very moving sir," with her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I am sure the small, single-celled organisms in this elevator enjoyed it infinitely!"

"Oh, I'm sure they did!" He was up in her face faster then she could see. "But they are not the ones at my mercy, now are they?" As soon as she shook her head, he went back to his first spot, turning his back again. _Her cynicism will need to be broken..._

He exhaled raucously and hunched into his most comfortable posture.

_Single-celled organisms indeed... _

_This was going to be a long time... _


	10. The Dreamer's Oath

"**Hey, hey, hey!" to quote "Gus". So, how is we enjoyin' it?**

_**GASP**_**!!! YES!!! THEY'VE COME BACK FOR ME!!! Oh, sorry what was I saying? Ha, ha, nothing yet... But I was GOING to tell you that this chapter has alot more interaction between Athela---blame "Chuck" ("**_**the man**_**")---and our dear bloody cyborg general. I found it hard and all that to actually have **_**conversations **_**going on between them, cuz we all know the G-dawg isn't much for talking... now is he? Well... not really, but oh well... I mean, having ongoing dialogue and such. Why did I choose the upcoming location I did, you ask? Because I like the planet, that's all! As for the other parts? Well ---laughing jovially--- I guess you will find out now won't you? The new guard dude whom I'm bringing in goes waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay back to the whole story before this, and played a significant role. He was just **_**so**_** cool, I had to bring him back, somehow making him live... So, uh, if this part seems **_**unusual **_**to you in any way, please say so in your reviews. Blame the music!!! The music made me write abnormally!!! TECHNO\NEW AGE!!! AHHH!!! **

**IT'S CONTROLLING MY MIND!!! MUST---DO---ROBOT... AAAUUUGGG!!! **

_**Thanx for the reviews I got. I enjoy hearing other people's critique on my work. And I hope there will be many more to come...**_

**Chapter 10~Dreamer's Oath**

"Move faster, you worthless neophyte!" Grievous tore into Count Dooku's transient lodgings aboard his ship, with the Kaleesh woman trailing slightly behind. He nearly ran straight into the human, something which he wished to have done when he received the bitter salutation.

"General, may I inquire as to why you feel it appropriate to travel you ship at such speeds?" Dooku waited for Grievous's explanation.

As Grievous pored over his superior's opulent clothing, his eyes were temporarily drawn to his own cape, that at the time was draped high around his neck and enclosed his cybernetic body fully. Then he regarded the other by his side. The difference between the three of them was manifest, but in a cyborg's opinion the unsightly reptile woman was the easiest on the eyes out of them all. That was only his belief. After all, he was accustomed to seeing such faces. "You tell me your reason for standing in my way, and I shall tell you my own grounds."

Dooku dismissed the curt statement, and admit the other. "Hello, Athela."

_Athela...? I should have known something so great simplicity by now!_

She bowed her head in a polite gesture.

Grievous shoved her behind him, causing Dooku to acknowledge him. "How is it that I am not primed to the hostage's name, Count?"

Dooku looked astonished. "Surely she told you by this point?"

"I was not informed."

"Am I detecting a suggestion of dejection, General?"

Grievous looked away. He wasn't supposed to care. He _didn't _care! "No. What did you need?"

Dooku gave the impression of being in deep thought, his brow furrowing as it ordinarily did while was considering the odds. Grievous interlaced his fingers inside his cloak in anticipation of what was coming. It would have been a sad day if the count had said something kind to him, but when the time came, he failed to disappoint Grievous.

"There are affairs that must be dealt with. I am sure you remember my mentioning a certain _apprentice _of mine to you on several occasions?"

"The Commander?" Dooku nodded, letting Grievous carry on. "Yes. I recall her name. What of her?"

"I have coordinated an assignment for you, and I expect to see results within a very short period of time." Grievous's alien heart skipped a beat. He was actually being given a mission! "It is quite simple. You will go to the world of your recreation, and meet with her. Many negotiations have to be made between the two of you. For example: which planets you each will take and manage. There shouldn't be any delay... should there General?"

"No." Grievous spun around and headed out, ignoring Athela. "I will prepare immediately."

The next sequence of words killed his ecstatic, mental world. "And I trust you will take your female coconspirator with you, also?"

"Yes." He stopped halfway though the entryway, conscious of what he had just agreed to. "WHAT?!"

*-*-*-*-*-*

The next morning, Grievous shambled off to a small, low-key hanger bay. He was still excessively angry at his unwitting conformity, and made it obvious to all around him---especially Athela, who he wouldn't look at to bear out his resentment. All the rest of the day before, he had talked to no one, and spent his time confined in his quarters, too ranting to confront any of his emotionless charges about even subjects relating to the war. They just wouldn't understand his motives...

When he arrived in the hanger, all movement was ceased. Droids stopped what they were doing and the Neimoidians assembled together at the time shrank back at the long shadow his contour cast along the floor. He needed only to emit a muffled growl and they all got back to their work. After being informed by a droid that Count Dooku wanted him to wait for last minute instructions, Grievous found a convenient place to remain until the human turned up. He observed the crew work, fleetingly interested at how such brainless idiots and inorganic contraptions could stay engrossed in their everyday duties for so long. The macrobiotic persons frequently glanced at him apprehensively, _pretending _to be engaged in a conversation with a coworker when his golden eyes stabbed at them.

"You," he detained the attention of the closest Neimoidian to him. "How long did Count Dooku say he would be? I have other arrangements than this one."

The thought that he was getting his chance to prove himself moreover excited him like nothing else, but the waiting was beginning to get on his nerves.

"I---I'm afraid I don't know, sir. I wasn't even aware that---"

"That does not matter! I want to know where he is!"

The Neimoidian cringed. "I'm sorry sir. I am not permitted to access the security monitors. You'll have to find someone else to do that for you..."

Grievous rolled his eyes, pulled out his custom DC-57 blaster, and shot the bewildered alien.

The atmosphere was overwrought after that, and the slightest noise made the general so put out, the temptation to destroy the whole bay with his lightsabers was almost too great. When Dooku did finally come in, he found Grievous hunched over a poor droid, threatening and rebuking it---as if it could understand him...

"General, I assume you have been occupying yourself?" The sharpness in Dooku's tone brought even more anxiety to the already stressed minds. Not a soul wanted to upset the count, for they all knew of his abilities, and how he could kill them all without lifting a finger.

"Yes, in fact I was." Grievous sneered back, sending the droid he had been telling off flying with a knee to the back of it. "Thank you very much for coming _on time_."

"You're welcome." Dooku said dryly. His eyes widened in disgust when he saw the dead body of the Neimoidian still lying on the floor a short distance away. "_What _have you done this time?"

The cyborg looked triumphant. "Just a little fun. The imbecile did not have the information he should have. I sent him to a place where he will be enlightened further." Grievous, satisfied that he had succeeded in repulsing Dooku even more, made a small head motion and two droids carried the corpse out of his sight. "You had some directives to give?"

"Yes. I am convinced you have knowledge about Geonosis and all of its components?"

"Of course I do. I am no fool."

"How is your basic survival intelligence?"

Grievous wondered what he was getting at. "Long ago I learned how to outlive any terrain or climate thrown at me. I have no fear of the elements. Mortality has left me, Count. I need no caution to such frivolities."

They both turned when they heard the derisive acclamation. There stood Athela, arms crossed and a very smug expression on her face. Funny how she could change her personalities so quickly... As for Grievous, he quickly forgot about her and focused his attention back to Dooku. The count looked back and forth from Grievous to her, "It appears as though you have an enthusiast, General."

"Do not waste your breath..." Grievous sulked a bit, shifting again and again; self-conscious of the audience he had. "Just another reason to hate life..."

Regardless of Dooku's foreseeable question, he had to thank Athela wordlessly for intervening at the right moment. "What is my role in this assignment, sir?"

"You, fundamentally, are there to mentally document how the General goes about his delegated tasks. When you arrive back, your job is to tell me in detail what he accomplishes how well he stays within the boundaries I have set for him."

"I am sure that will be easy enough..."

"But be attentive. Listen to him---though he may sound," Dooku glared at him for an split second, "_impractical _at times, he always has a reason."

"So I have learned, sir."

Wait.

Had she just...

No.

...just _complemented _him?

_I must have heard incorrectly_...

"You will treat my apprentice with civilization, I hope?" Dooku waited. No answer. "_Right _General?"

"I suppose..." Grievous replied musingly. He afterward redeemed himself with a stronger warranty, "Without doubt. Why did you even have misgivings on such a thing, Count?"

"Do I even need to explain?"

That broke their dispute.

Grievous's head rotated this way and that, while disregarding the two person conversation that went on in front of him. _Listen to that man... he believes I really listen to his procedural nonsense? If she was not here, he would tell me what he really thinks of me... And I would look him in the eyes, and say: if I had your soul I would be careful what I said to one of my standings... I would then leave him belittled in his own infamy..._

"General!" The count stared at him sordidly, frustrated. "Did you hear what I said?"

"No. Repeat it."

"I gather that, under the circumstances, you won't be taking your bodyguards with you?"

_Under the circumstances...? What circumstances...? He can not mean... No... He would never sink that low... _"Obviously. I do not seek attention from the Republic's spies. They are many on Geonosis, and the _droids _would only cause tribulations to the situation."

"What of your collaborator?"

"My...? What _collaborator_? I do not recall ever appointing her in such a rank!" Grievous shook his head in uncertainty. "She is what she is. A woman. An underprivileged member of a fraudulent civilization. Nothing more then a setback to my plans!"

"Might I remind you that it was _you _who wanted her to stay alive so strongly." Dooku's already disenchanted temperament worsened. "Are you having second thoughts?"

_Yes, yes, yes... _"No."

Grievous turned toward his transport. It was a Neimoidian shuttle that he had been in only once since his reformation, and he found it disagreeable compared to what he _used _to get around in. The interior, though appearing large from the outside, was small to Grievous, and he had felt uncomfortably shut in the last time he had ridden in it.

"Is that our convey?" He heard Athela put forward.

Not sure of who she was asking, he answered, "Yes. It is."

"Then you'd better be on your way." Dooku said, trying to get rid of him. "And _try _to come back in one piece this time, General."

Grievous gave an annoyed look at the mention of his agonizing past, before starting up the ramp.

*-*-*-*-*-*

In the wake of the cyborg, Athela shrugged a thought off. "I still fail to understand why I have to accompany that monster... He would sooner rearrange my face then suffer me!"

"Not you," Dooku said without the slightest hint of irony. "He wouldn't hurt you. He might be forward with his regulations, but he will not harm you, I assure you."

"I doubt that highly, sir."

"Keep him in line for me." She was told in a final instruction. "He hides his admiration of your boldness when it comes to words. But trust me... I can see right through him. I glimpsed his intentions and ambitions, and your death was not in them."

_Well that is surprising... _

"Yes, it _is _rather unanticipated isn't it?"

"Uh---yes---sir. I should be going now."

"Hurry up out there!" Came the general's voice from inside.

"See?" She almost laughed, but the air around her was too morose for it.

Athela allotted her goodbyes and entered the ship, ruminating the class of it. She felt his unavoidable eyes on her, and as the access ramp decreased and the hatchway shut, claustrophobia set in. Finally gaining her tranquility, she raised her head to see him seated at the back of the space, leaving enough liberty to get into the cockpit, but limiting any other movement. She took a seat promptly, far away from him, but he could have well been right next to her and it wouldn't have made a difference at all.

She kept her gaze down; centered on the floor so she wouldn't instill any false assumptions in his substandard mind. Athela wanted very much to get up, go right up to him, slam a forefinger right between his eyes and tell him what she really though of him. After only being around him for a few days, she had grown to disgust the reverence people gave him. What did he think he was? A god? Far from! She didn't find him so "great" at all. Like with Count Dooku, he appalled her, and the way he had such a enigmatic impact on people only made it worse.

She looked out the viewport across from her, watching the large command ship shrink into the distance. The ocean of stars and outlying planets had captivated her the day she left Kalee. Before everything happened, she had lived a peaceful life among a evanescent tribe, and had known very little of what lied beyond her world's atmosphere. Then she had encountered someone who had told her what was out there, and how breathtaking it really was; the deep black void of space and time. There had been little in means of "starships" back then, and only the rich and military officers ever even set a hand on the hull of such refinements.

"What was the meaning of that nonsense back there?" The general's voice had a provoked edge to it, and hearing him asking _her _a question caught her off guard.

"I---I don't understand. What _nonsense_?" Athela cocked her head when she looked over at him.

He growled as if she was the most insolent creature in the galaxy. "Your riposte to Count Dooku. What made you say what you did?"

"My---reciprocation?" She had just said it to be polite. If he wasn't there she wouldn't have said anything nice at all. She would have probably even insulted him in turn. "Is there suddenly something wrong with paying a right and proper kind word once in awhile?" She lied. He looked like he wanted to impair her. "Oh, that's right---to you; there is... So sorry."

He was quiet after that, either devising some sort of physically painful comeback or just plain seething. Athela tried her best to ignore his momentary spasms of anger, but it was rather hard when she knew she had nowhere to run if he turned on her. On the other hand... He had promised that she would live. Then why did he try so hard to make it appear that he would rip her apart limb from limb? She would never get up enough backbone to ask, even if she knew she was capable of posing the bravest of questions.

"What is _wrong_ with you?!" She snapped suddenly, amazed at her sudden will to know why he reacted the way he did.

His wicked eyes knifed her as good as any weapon. "_What_?" He bit back.

"Can't you just take the lousy compliment?! You know, you must have been a sorry excuse for a person when you were _alive_! How can you possibly expect to have a good life if you do not accept thoughtful comments occasionally?!"

"Thoughtful...?" The general seemed to taste the word, thinking it over. "Hardly!" She frowned. "It is time for you to get a few things straight! "Thoughtful" will not change my life. _Compassion _never helped me back when I was a pathetic mortal and it certainly does not help me now. And most of all... obsequious subtleties will not win this war for me. Do you really think I would walk into battle and start praising the enemy?!"

Athela shook her head, looking back at the floor.

"I am going to teach you respect, woman. You are not on your homeworld any longer, and in my presence, you are deferent. Do I make myself clear!?"

"Yes, sir..." She said pessimistically. "_Very _clear..."

*-*-*-*-*-*

Grievous took deep breathes, letting loose a few hard coughs when his bothersome wheezing irritated the remaining components of his throat, as so many times prior to this. Everything was so confusing... He had begun to question his own word, wanting more then anything at times to decapitate Athela and just get it over with. Then he would always have to remind himself that she was one of his people, and he had sworn an oath never to harm any Kaleesh.

With the exception of that man he had buried alive...

He thought it strange that he remembered _him---_but not anyone else. He remembered his name. His _inborn _name. That cursed title.

The _dreamer_.

That was what they once called him.

And that he had been. Through good and bad he had possessed a surreal world within his mind, and it had been his downfall after everything he knew he went through. His past gnawed at him just as surely as the present did, and he wished for more information about who he had been; and why he suffered a heartfelt ache. Pieces were missing from his reminiscences. He could _feel _it! But, for many reasons, he made an effort not to obsess over it.

It was... _distracting_. _Wounding_...

There was a lingering trace of a eclipsed vision---which he could scarcely hold on to. It beset him, bringing about too many ill senses. He wasn't sure, but he thought it was linked to the murder of that man, but it was hard to know for certain due to the fact that he knew no details.

That was that then...

He happened to look in her direction to catch Athela staring at him. She quickly turned away, incoherently muttering a curse in her own language and pretending to be highly interested in a particular bolt on the floor. Did she perchance think, that by gazing at him for long periods of time, she would be able to learn more about him? If so, she was a long way off the mark. His outward appearance said _nothing _in the way of his background---accept for his mask, which was hard enough to decipher as it was---and he intended to keep it that way until... Until his secrets died with him... if death was even doable for him. After much mulling over the subject, he concluded that he _would _die in the fullness of time, for his internal organs would fail him eventually, even _with _the aid of the special casing and intermingled liquids they had forced on him. He would probably only live to be middle-aged though, knowing how much peril he put himself in.

Pity though; how Grievous would never see his own flesh and blood again.

_They do not even mourn my passing... They do not care..._

_*-*-*-*-*-*_

He relaxed his mind, permitting his memoirs of times long ago to engulf his sanity. Just feet away, his young friend slept soundly, curled into a fetal position on the ground. The kid looked like his father, that's for sure, but resembled his mother in the way he spoke, acted and lived. Recalling the instance when he had spoken to the mother, he knew he had wondered why things happened the way they did. He knew that he had suspected such acts in the first place. And he knew from the very start that he didn't like the way things had turned out for him... and all of his war-brothers. Their families, large in number, had been left to deviate from one another and find new lives elsewhere. Some of them, he had taken in; tried to care for with his wealth until they found a home. But things never went well for him. Everything went downhill after his sad shot at generosity, and people began to be cautious of him.

When he had explained it all to the kid, he had left out some things that he knew would only harm his young mentality. The bloody minded individual who had assassinated them all had confessed to him. The night of the interment, an encounter with him in his own residence provided evidence as to the authenticity of what was going on inside the man's mind. He had known for some time that the killer was concealing his misery behind a fortified image of power and respect... something that had all but left his comrades by that time. It wasn't until many years later, after the Huk War had been done with, that all had been made clear...

He still had nightmares of the last images of that predator.

_I can't expect to keep this up forever... Soon they'll know who I really am, and reject me all over again... Those followers of that slaughterer..._

He heard the footsteps behind him before he recognized the male voice, and he almost recoiled, startled and affronted that he wasn't being more aware.

"Well if it isn't the _morally correct_ man who survived the rage of my leader... I never thought I'd see your ugly face again. This is unfortunate. _Most _unfortunate..."

"Well, that would be a lie wouldn't it?" He said. "You _haven't _seen my face yet, so..." He stretched lethargically. "...how's about you park your flattering little self where I can see you, huh?"

Out stepped a completely branded individual. He was missing fingers, and most of his features seemed to have been burned so badly that not even the most skilled could help him.

He knew this man.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the notoriously pitiable Ly-khn! You're supposed to be dead..."

"Oh, no, my _old_ friend. You know beings like us can return. You, for one, survived what others could not, and it was likewise with me."

He folded his arms behind his head. "You amuse me."

"And you disgust _me_." Ly-khn hissed. "The way you always stalked around, constantly watching those who you had no right to. You hid in shadow when you should have spoken. Disgraceful..."

He stood, equal in height to his opposer. "Your master; that spawn of demons, had no right! He wasn't what he seemed. Don't you see? He was _using _you because he was to petrified about death!"

"That is what you told _her_."

A cold feeling overwhelmed him. He sat back down, nervously reallocating his fingers to kill the stress that came over him. He was a liar. A thieving, crooked liar, who did so to get what he wanted, but never truly necessitated. "I... never... Never meant to harm anyone... It was just---I only did what I though would help... _Save_ from... from..." He stopped. "I never meant it."

"Never meant to _lie_?"

"No. I never was sincere... I---That's just the way I am! I mean... Back then I was---"

Ly-khn cut him short. "I do not care, do you hear me! I did not bother going off track to argue with you over your own personal problems! It's over; done with! There was nothing you could have done! So _let it go_!" His glare alleviated, and he glanced over at the kid, to make sure he was still asleep. Ly-khn noticed, for the first time, and sighed gallingly. "Who's the minor?"

"Some kid..."

"A relation perhaps?"

"How should I know!?" He retorted, knowing that the remark wasn't helping him any. "No, I doubt it. He's like an insect, you know? 'Always needing to know about "the strange man who he ran into after getting shunned by the world"!"

"I feel sorry for him then. How much did you tell him?" Ly-khn paused. "Allow me to rephrase that: _how much did you lie to him_?"

"Now, now, don't worry your sweet, innocent, little head off, Ly-khn. I told him everything I felt he could take... Which wasn't much."

"Ah."

He leered. "So, what about you? What does the infamous "defender" plan to do with his life?"

"Well, I am not sure whether you _know_ this or _not_, but I have a _family _who will be most anxious to know that I am _alive_. After the whole thing happened, I saved myself, but had to spend months confined; and here I am... Not much... But it works."

"No! I mean---do you plan on getting back into the whole protector thing?"

"Why would I?" Ly-khn ridiculed. "The war is ended. And I see no one with the integrity to deserve my help. You're not suggesting yourself are you?"

"No. Why would I _ever _do that?" He rolled his eyes. "Actually I--- No. You enjoy your life while you have it. Not everyone is as good off as you..."

"Aw, that was so miserably sentimental of you!"

Wondering what happened to Ly-khn's normal personality, he scratched his head, saying, "You are not the same man I remember. You once showed reverence where reverence was due."

"You are right, and I have not changed. You just don't deserve what my master once did..."

"Thank you, Ly-khn." The mordant words seemed to strike a nerve.

"But, I _will _commend you. You have changed as well; perchance for the better."

He sighed with a smile. "I hope so. I just wish that there still was a chance for us---for our children..."

"As do I." Ly-khn agreed, turning to leave. "As do I..."


	11. Trust Issues

_**Whoo!! Another 4 chapters! SORRY FOR THE TWO WEEK WAIT!! My "technical buddy" didn't have a break in their schedule to take me to the library, so... **__**no comment**_**... I've been at a loss lately on what to put in here... But I hope it still turned out okay... If there's a slight inaccuracy you notice, please don't mention it... It was intentional... ---sigh--- I'm very far away from the original story plot, and consider myself a "wandering child, so lost---so helpless" in everything I'm typing presently... I tried to get everything back on track in this chapter, but I just don't know anymore... In case you haven't noticed, I write long writer's notes, but I just like to communicate with the peeps and say what alls going on. That will be all. **

**PLEASE NOTE! There are a few things I feel the need to apologize for before I enjoy the **

**writing process... But... As my slogan so openly states, "I have my reasons"... So here ya go...**

**(1) Primarily, I'm a very rueful person, and I always make unnecessarily random apologies to people in plain life, and in my writing. Let's just get this over with shall we...? So, uh, I'm sorry if the chapter before this one was confusing in any way shape or form, because I realized some things when I quick looked at my reviews when the chance presented itself... Yeah... You know what I mean... So I decided to finally put Yeiro's warrior friend's name in here at last... It was a name I had in my head way before I even got the inspiration from a friend to write an actual story and--- Oh great, I got myself talking in run-on sentences... ANYWAY! I really liked the feel of it when I first said it, and when you roll it off your tongue... ****I ENCOURAGE YOU TO SAY IT OUT LOUD AND SEE FOR YOURSELF, UNLESS YOU'RE IN A PLACE THAT WOULD HUMILIATE YOU COMPLETELY**

**(2) I know what your thinking... Why aren't there any fight scenes yet? WELL, for those who's minds I just read. I shall telleth thee why. See, there's just this tiny aspect called: THEY BORE ME TO DEATH. Have you ever been reading a book where there's this, like, **_**million **_**page fight scene that just drags on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on??? If you haven't, just read the end of Star Wars Episode 2 novel to find out... I mean, we all like the "You'll never win" "Oh yes I will" "No you won't, shut up" "You're going down" "Try me" stuff that we always read, but sorry, if I wanted that, I would watch Power Rangers... with their annoying yells and shouts that make it sound like they have really bad constipation... *_* So yeah... There. I'm gonna' go laugh and bang my head on the wall for an hour about it... Hah... hah hah... But do not worry, I'll get something in there eventually, as soon I summon up the tolerance...**

**Chapter 11~Trust Issues**

Grievous saw the planet approaching, and remembered distantly being in terrible pain the last time he _came _to it. A jolt went through him as he brought to mind the feeling of that journey; how he was on the brink of death the whole time, in so great suffering that he didn't _want_ to see the light of another day. He had considered finishing it right there and then, but with the absence of limbs to aid in that, he couldn't really accomplish that feat...

"_That _is the destination?"

Still irate from the last conversation with her, he felt uncompelled to oblige Athela's question, but knew she would continue bugging him about it until he answered. "Yes." The add-on was unforeseen, even for him. "Keep quiet, I am thinking."

"Well _sor-ry_! And just how was I supposed to know that?!"

"Did I not just instruct you to be quiet?" Grievous said evenly. She heaved a sigh and turned away, looking back out the small window. "That's what I thought..."

It had been only a half an hour or so, but to the general, it felt like hours. The awkwardness of it all was getting to him, and he was far past wishing that he had though before he spoke. In those introverted moments he had to himself, he focused not on the troubles of the battles to come, but the definite win he would have, and the pleasure he would take from that. He had identified his will to surmount all who stood in his way early on in his life, for it was one of the few positive things they allowed to remain in his memory, just in case he needed a reminder about the topic. Victory was what he lived for, and people got hurt if he did not achieve it, which he rarely didn't, making an allowance for the fact that he hadn't fought in a long time.

"What are you thinking about?"

This one just didn't give up did she? "I thought I told you to---"

"I _know _what you _told _me! Heck, I _don't_ particularly _care_! I just want to know what is so engrossing! And you would tell me you had any decorum left to do so!"

_Decorum... No, I believe I lack that... _"_Why_ do you want to know?"

"Is it a crime to make conversation around here?"

"_Yes_..." Grievous gave her a death glare as he continued, "I never gave you _permission _to talk unreservedly, and ridiculous inquiries like that are considered daft---simply a waste of my time all together."

"Okay then. Here is a perfectly _legitimate_ question for you: what is the point in this mission?"

_What? Fool! _He angled his head, still glaring, his eyes demanding an explanation.

"You heard me you overgrown droid! I want to know if there is a point to this!"

His talons dug into the floor. "A point?" The manner wherein he spoke put across his detestation well enough to almost kill without even lifting a finger. "The point is for you to shut your mouth before you say something that will get you killed!!"

"Ooh... touchy subject, huh?"

Grievous forfeit.

It was no use.

*-*-*-*-*-*

He awoke to find himself feeling very cold, and very alone. Above him, the night sky, clouded and starless, only made him feel worse, and he cursed to himself repeatedly, in unforgiving attempts to invalidate the past; his mistakes that had been so openly raised by that hopeless minder.

He had been dreaming, and saw only the former times. By some means, he had forced himself awake to save himself from seeing his transgressions replayed before his eyes. The sweat trickled down his face, and closing his eyes, he swiped a hand over his forehead, exhaling in a crackly manner. He felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him lightly. The kid.

"Are you okay?"

Without facing the boy, he replied, "Yes. I'm fine. Just a dream..."

"I heard you. You cried a name; you begged for the end of it all. May I ask who you were dreaming about, sir?"

_Sir...? _"No. No you may not. It's none of your business. It---wouldn't do anything to help you." He pushed to his feet, needing a distraction. "You know... I don't think we have been properly introduced, have we, kid?"

"No, but---"

"So, how about your name, now?"

The kid folded his arms. "Yeiro." He said. "It's Yeiro."

"Yeiro... No doubt your mother named you that?"

"Yes... She did."

_No surprise there_... "Well Yeiro, it appears my life has just been made ten times easier. Now about---"

"_Your _name. Tell me _your_ name."

"I don't think you want me to, kid." But Yeiro's gaze implored, and he could never say no to an expression like that. "Okay, kid... My name." He spaced out for a minute, afraid to utter what laid silent for over a decade. "N'jaere Rahkah."

There.

He had said it.

Going on to explain, Yeiro took mental note. "I was a General." _General Rahkah... A title that put me though what seemed to be the underworld..._ "'Had my own side of the planet practically. My family was large, and appreciated what I did for our people, but it was mostly me, if you follow? Yeah, I was young like you at one time... Twenty years ago... I can't believe it's been that long... We would have all been sitting around wondering what to do with out lives by this point if the others weren't---" Rahkah blinked, "You know..."

Yeiro nodded, and asked pryingly, "Why do you hide from the world?"

"I hide because I must. They all think I'm dead. No one speaks of me anymore... Not even my own relatives... I am a disgrace to them, as I was to my family in the end..."

"You just said they "appreciated" you!"

"Ha! Not _after_ what I did... I wasn't there for them; ever, near my supposed demise, and they grew more distant. I saw them _one _last timebefore going into hiding... Then they were either killed, captured, or sold into slavery by that crazed killer. My children... I will never forgive myself for what I caused them to undergo. All because I only ever thought about myself; what _I _wanted..."

"You could change that you know." Yeiro put in. "Go repent to everyone you ever hurt."

With a near sad look, Rahkah looked upward, "_Everyone_, isn't around anymore to tell..."

"You mean the others?"

"Well, yes, the four and---"

"You said there were seven."

He tensed up. "There were---_counting _me and that---"

"That would be six."

"Would you stop interrupting me, kid! I really don't like it when you do that!"

The boy seemed unconcerned. "Six...?"

Rahkah nerved himself, not prepared to give the answer Yeiro wanted. "This is the part where you walk away and forget we had this conversation."

"I really think you should go to the _living_, and ask for forgiveness..."

_Humanitarian_... _If only he knew how useless it would be_... "No, I couldn't... Everything's done now... The actions which I regret cannot be reversed, nor do I want them to be."

But that was another lie...

*-*-*-*-*-*

Stepping out on the exit ramp, Grievous assessed the landscape around him. Red-brown. Jagged. Dead.

Without impropriety, he gave the pilot their orders, and went out to meet the two Geonosians who had been notified of his arrival. They were strange insects unquestionably, and possessed little in the way of amiability. Their unattractive voices didn't help them, and the annoying clicks and twittering could really get to one who didn't know what they were saying. Not seeming to fear Grievous at all, they each started rambling away, getting into a fight over who was talking. It aggravated the general, and he grabbed both their heads to separate them, demanding that _one _explained.

When he got his explanation, the Geonosians got talons through their necks. Ripping them down like they weighed nothing, he wrenched his feet from their tough throats, watching the surviving one writhe on the ground with heartless pleasure. Flexing his blood-splattered claws, he continued to allow the futile efforts to live go on. He found it amusing to watch...

"Get it over with!" Next to him, Athela moved away, sickened by how he just stood and watched.

Grievous looked down on her, causing her to back away even further. "_Why_?" The inquisitiveness was genuine. He wanted to know what she wasn't liking viewing this as much as he was. "Do you not enjoy the misery of others?"

"Just _kill_ the poor creature!"

His awareness shot back and forth from the Geonosian, to her, and finally he brought the pests life to a close. Still interested in why a member of such a blood loving race would ever take disapproval from the pain of another, Grievous didn't say anything about it, _or _whyexactly he had killed them both...

*-*-*-*-*-*

"What is the meaning of this?" Grievous demanded to a holographic Count Dooku, adding an especially conspicuous amount of force to his voice.

"I'm sorry, is there a problem?" The human sounded drained of energy, perhaps being awakened from a rest by the general's sudden contact. "I thought everything would go quite smoothly from what I arranged."

"Do not tell me that you are not accountable for what has happened, Dooku." Grievous's whole body began to convulse. "_Tell me now_: what is the _meaning _of this?!"

Dooku studied the cyborg's emotionless faceplate. "I do not understand what you are asking. Would you care to elaborate?"

"I am no fool. I know what you have done!"

Grievous saw Dooku regard Athela briefly. Did he really think that she could be trusted? With her sarcastic observations and lack of respect. Grievous never did comprehend why some people were so unpredictable like that. One minute they cowered in fear, and another they spoke with so much effrontery that it amazed him where they got it. It was no different with Athela, and it only bewildered him...

"And how is my student doing?" Dooku queried, not paying heed to Grievous's reaction. He had directed the question at Athela, who waited patiently, formulating an answer.

"I am not sure sir..." She said, trying to get Grievous to explain what she did not know. "I would ask your cyborg commander if I were you."

"Well General?"

Grievous never responded, ending the transmission. "That will teach him..." He muttered, veering around to be opposite another Geonosian who had shown him to this room. "Do you speak basic?"

The Geonosian's head bobbed up and down obediently.

"What happened?"

It turned out that the count's "apprentice" had grown nervous about reported spy sightings in the area, and had moved to a different location. She had not given any instructions when she left, and the Geonosian described it as: "she just disappeared, there was no trace that she had even been here in the first place". Grievous could tell the natives were scared of her, but the relater was trying very hard not to make it _that _painfully obvious. After much negotiating, Grievous and the insect came to a mutual agreement of sorts, that the Geonosians' would provide him with a ship, as long as one of their own would be allowed to pilot it. Honestly, Grievous didn't want to take any chances with being spotted in a ship, getting shot down, and almost _dying _again, but it was either _that _or walking through the desert for three days... In other words, the general chose option "A".

Athela had some things to say about it. For instance, "Isn't there a chance that they could betray us---"

"Say no more; I would have to kill them for it."

"What about the Geonosians? Won't they be upset when they find out you ripped their guides' throats apart?" There didn't appear to be any irony in the seriously put reservation.

Grievous shook his head once. "They know not to question me... unlike _some _people."

"You have a very cruel sense of humor, sir."

"Humor is a infantile excuse for absurd distractions." He replied indistinctly.

"Is that you talking?"

The uncertainty hit Grievous as oddly true, yet he was convinced that he was the one who originally thought that. They would never play around with things like _that _in his brain would they? After everything he had learned, he couldn't be sure about the matter. In a vague sort of way, he could faintly induce a small excerpt from precedent times of his senseless attempts at jesting. He heard the mirth in the back of his mind, and nearly felt the achievement of overcoming his hatred. Then he would have to remind himself that it was only a reticent falsehood.

"Of course it is!" Grievous thought about what he was saying, and it sounded good in the end: agreeing to the fact that he was an aloof soul. "And I would not be mouthing off to someone who could take your life before you could even claim it."

"I do not think you would though. You're not the type who goes back on their promises that easily---I can tell."

"When Count Dooku is not present," he said, understanding some things, "I promised you nothing..."

*-*-*-*-*-*

**If it's not my usual "approach", so to speak, say so please, because I felt it to lack something...**


	12. Giving In

**This is intentionally short, because I wanted a sole chapter that was focused purely on the quandaries this guy has... The next chapter is longer I prrrooommmiiissseee...**

**Chapter 12~To Yield **

The words that echoed through his skull had an eerie compulsion to them. Bleak fulfillment pervaded his mind, imprisoning the senses and capturing his inmost thoughts. Unnamed secrets were told; disclosed to those who burned in the depths of the abyss, void of life and meaning. An evocative undertone revealed to him things that lingered in his thoughts as frightening pieces of his narcissistic wants. In those rare serene moments, he gasped, not breathing at all when he heard the low admonishments. Everything he had ever said, everything he had ever struggled with, _everyone_; their names and judgments.

But the ongoing words...

It was too much! He could never be rid himself of what existed in his nightmares, and let go of his premonitions, overcome by darkness...

_Speak your mind... You suffer..._

Yes... Of course... That was what---

_The will of the gods is steadfast... They surely have not abandoned you..._

He tried to reply; tried to say something, _anything _that would redeem him. Nothing came. As he looked around the emptiness, he saw only obscurity. The voice still burned what seemed to be his very soul...

_Give up... You cannot win..._

With stifled cries of torment, Rahkah surrendered.


	13. Treachery?

**I promised you would get more substance, and substance you will get! So, I've been trying not to make it as... **_**dark **_**as the original version, but if you want that, SPEAK... Then again..............................**

**EVERYTHING is dark with General Grievous and his **_**pack a' gangstas**_**... I would like to thank my friend from school "Young Buck" or whatever he told me to call him... eh, oh well... But he gave me ideas for this chapter inadvertently while in a conversation about "pomegranate lemonade". How is that possible you ask? It is with me... So HA! No, there is nothing about "pomegranate lemonade" in here, though it would have been dang funny to do so! **

**This new italicized section is short, but I just couldn't think the night I wrote it, and I mainly just wrote it for the last line. It reminded me of some sort of trailer you'd see in theaters ya know? Before the title of the forthcoming movie gets slammed in your face and that cool vocalizing comes to an abrupt halt...? :) Heh... I don't know... It just does...**

**The part about "Rahkah"---I **_**love**_** saying that name--- is hard to understand if you're not me, which... most people aren't... But I had to change it from it's original version to make it less... informative for lack of a better word... The other part from Yeiro's point of view give information at long last, and it was hard not to give anything too big away.**

**As for the "treachery" part of this chapter, it includes original ideas and a whole lot of boring dialogue. HOPE YOU ENJOY! I tried to make this one extra long to make up for the previous one... **

**Chapter 13~Treachery?**

_Civilians struggled to disperse. Smoke was everywhere, along with the dilapidated remains of what used to be a flourishing conurbation. The innocent; crushed and dying by fallen walls, beckoned their friends and allies that couldn't hear their pleas. _

_Many congregated in one universal area, which they hoped was safe enough for them. _

_They were wrong._

_They were wiped out before the militia. They were made up of those who wanted nothing to do with this controversy. They were mostly young individuals, of whom knew nothing of self defense. _

_The last thing some of them saw, was the menacing shape coming at them, the visible eyes telling them to die more than any word ever could._

_After that, their dead, compacted carcasses were only a hindrance to the rival troops that trampled them as if they were nothing more then dirt under their feet._

_The leader of this operation, lofty and threatening, came upon a straggler; a barely matured one who had a long gash on its foreleg. He laughed to himself before cutting it down. He jumped atop the deceased, and with a viciously satisfied grin watched the army advance on the fleeing, cutting them down as they did the others._

_There was no escape. None of the discernable were spared. And none were allowed to get away. Soon, the mass group was reduced to a crumpled layer of lifeless remains, just as violently as all the others._

_At long last, the armies were lead away, kicking a path through the bloody accumulation, and leaving all that were decimated that day to rot... _

_He was through. The job was finished, and at last he was contented with the slaughter he had arranged. His legions had done well, and there would be much veneration in store for them when they all arrived back home to their families. His would be pleased with him as well..._

Unfortunately their admiration is not mine_... He thought with a resentful scowl. _The costs of war_..._

_He sometimes wished more then anything to run. But that would be disgraceful to him and his mercenaries. He was too strong for that. Too strong to stand by, cowering in the shadows while his people suffered under the ruthless oppression of the adversaries bloody attacks. _

_With every breath when in battle, he reflected unambiguous suggestions as to his abilities, and constantly strived to improve little things in his customized fighting technique. He wanted to destroy as many of them as he could. The hatred for those corrupt creatures effected his concentration, and he frequently found himself pacing furiously, easily angered to the level of unlawful death if bothered. When he was home, he never spoke, he just locked himself away, immersed in happier times and incuriously, despairing and questioning his will to live. And it was a determination to end it all that drove him on when it all came down to it, as strange a motivation as it seemed. _

_He separated from his troops, ordering one of his guards to take charge of them. Finding a place, he stopped and waited, edgily wringing his hand behind his back. Moments later distant cries of agony reached his ears. The report had not come and his impatience was building. The messenger must have been attacked or killed, yet something inside told him that death was not the case. He had received his fair share of that torment as it was..._

_After not seeing home for months, he had grown to forget his own family, and no longer dwelled on sentimentality of that sort. Being a killer was enough for him. However... there were also other things, more personal reasons that had been made known to him in his dreams, and he no longer had a reason to live because of it._

_He heard the footsteps before he heard the discordant voice of his most faithful. "Sir," his protector addressed, keeping his head lowered in respect, "We have wiped out the last of them."_

_When he didn't answer, the man moved closer, and spoke more forcefully. "What will you have us do?"_

_Unsettled, the he turned his head in the direction of his accomplice, his eyes burning with murderous hatred behind his masked face. "We hunt him..."_

_*-*-*-*-*-*_

"You must not allow the crossing to be successful." Dooku ordered coldly to the unfortunate Geonosian who happened to be the one who was the most available. "I do not care what you have to do, but you can not let him get off this easy. He assumed that this mission would be easy, but I assure you, if you're fond of living, you will do as I say..."

The insect, scared out of its mind by that point, concurred rapidly and disappeared. Dooku though over the possible mistakes of this choice; to destroy a potentially good assignment. He finally decided that if the his plan worked out, the undertaking would be a complete and utter victory that he would take over gaining a world's loyalty any day...

_The excellence of it all..._

*-*-*-*-*-*

"Thickheaded imbeciles!" Grievous shouted, judging the ship they had promised him in a hostile manner. "Do you really expect me to believe that this is the best your mechanically advanced race can provide me with?!"

The particular Geonosian, a technologist by the looks of it, replied in perfectly fine basic, "No, sir, I do not believe that. But at this moment, this is the only craft we have on our hands. If you were to have gone to a site near the more rural area, you would have been given the best of the best, sir."

Grievous looked out into the endless wasteland, then at the ship. When compared, the two were practically the same in the way of intolerance, but the general, with patent denial, hauled himself over to the transport and inspected it carefully. When examined up close, it didn't seem in that bad of shape, but when scrutinized from afar, it was quite the disappointment. From Grievous's growing experience with things such as this, he said to waiting Geonosian, "How fast is it?"

"Sir," the pest of a lifeform answered. "She may be long-standing, but she still can elude just about any other ship on this planet. Old model, meant for speed, originally."

It didn't look that way. "In that case... Have the one you chose as pilot be ready to move out immediately. I grow tired of this place." _It brings back old memories..._

"Yes, sir." The Geonosian scurried off, leaving Grievous to come to terms with the calling to just forget the transportation and walk right through the three day desert, with or without his maddening underling.

He leaned his head against the hull, muttering words he wasn't even aware of.

"There are other ways..." Athela's voice had a sense of fact to it. "You could get in touch with your command ship and they could send help."

Grievous stood straight up, his impressive eight foot stature dwarfing all other organisms around him. "Contact my ship?" He growled imposingly. "_Contact my ship_!?"

As much as he endeavored to, he could not make her back down this time. "Yes! Yes! _Your _ship! You know, the one that belongs to _you..._?!"

Circumventing violent incites, he controlled his voice enough to rasp, "If you wish to remain unscathed during your time with us, I strongly suggest you hold your tongue."

Just when he thought that he had finally shut her up, she came back again, infuriating him even greater then she already did. It _did _make him wonder about her bravado... even if he wanted to asphyxiate her. He couldn't remember, but he was almost certain that he had learned enough respect towards those who were higher rank then him at a young age. Then he had rose high above them all, and hadn't had to worry about such things since, but this obviously knowledgeable fighter should have been taught exactly that from the start.

"There'll come a day when you finally figure out that no threat you make can make me revere you in the way you want, sir. Sure, I respect you as a military leader; as a _General_, but I am not one to be pushed around because---"

"I know! There is no need to tell me why! I already _know_ why!"

"Oh really... How thoughtful of you to take into account the troubles of others for once in your life." Athela persisted wryly. "'Never thought you had it in you..."

There was only one way to get rid of a parasite without killing it, though Grievous found it dishonorable, he knew it would be the easiest way to avoid the voices in his head that were telling him to destroy her.

And that was to simply walk away.

She didn't follow.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Athela watched him prowl off with the fulfillment of winning. She realized she had just slighted a powerful being, but no creature who was a supremacist deserved to be treated charitably. If she was given the chance she would show him a thing or two about how off he really was...

_He thinks I am weak does he? Useless, he thinks! Well he's in for a rude awakening when---_

"Excuse me?" A timid question wrecked her train of thought.

She jumped back when she saw the small Geonosian standing there, looking at her with a most mystified appearance to him. "Yes...? Can I help you with something...?"

"You came with that horrid creature?" He motioned with his head in the direction the leader had gone.

Athela evaluated the insects honest novelty a moment before slowly indicating agreement. "Yes, I did. Is that a problem?"

"Only if you have a problem with all the insults my species pay him behind his back..." The Geonosian muttered. "But he does treat you badly, right?"

"Oh, you have no idea, my friend. By this point I'd rather be dead!"

"So, it is true then, what they say?"

"It depends on what _that _is."

"He really _did _spare you?" Again, Athela nodded slowly. _Obviously_... "Incredible! I heard about you! They told me!" He fidgeted, bobbling excitedly. "They---they told me there was no way you would survive this long! But here you are, talking to and standing right in front of me! And unhurt in any way!"

Athela's hand strayed to her neck, which still was scarred from the near death scolding she received many days back. "Um---thank... you...?" She didn't have anything else better to say at the aliens display of enthusiasm. "Tell me again why you are here? You do not seem as---uh---_old _as the others."

"I observe my hivemates work and will be designated a profession of my own when I reach maturity." The Geonosian stated proudly, straitening up. "It will not be long now. I hear working in our factories is exceptionally rewarding..."

"Factories? You mean modernized production plants? Do you get in trouble if you make one little error?" Athela had quickly become interested in what went on outside her small world, and asked questions as often as she could. The general would rarely be in a "question\answer" type of mood, and he offered little in the informational category. She planned on asking most of her inquiries to Count Dooku, but for now, this insect looked as if he had the patience to answer what she had to ask. "What do you manufacture?"

"Yes. Yes. And yes." He answered the first three questions rather rapidly, anxious to move on to the last. "We create the droids that fight for the Separatists. We turn them out by the thousands every day and they get sent to various Confederacy bases all over the galaxy. Most, though, go to that waste of perfectly good metal for inspection. He quick looks them over and usually obliterates half of the group because he simply doesn't like them."

"What is with him and droids?"

"That..." The Geonosian paused. "I can't say. I do not know. I have very little knowledge of him. All I know is that there were a lot of my older acquaintances killed the day he awoke from his little alteration. Other then that..."

Athela, wanting to get off the subject, input quickly, "So, why doesn't this area have access to the technology that the bordering one does?"

"We don't necessarily _lack _the equipment of our richer neighbors... but I am the wrong one to ask. They never fill me in on those details."

"Ah. Yes. I am sorry. I guess that would be a problem."

"Come, come!" There was a renewed anticipation in his voice. "I will introduce you to my friends. They have been wondering about you ever since they heard."

This made Athela worried about what terrible things had been going around about her. The last thing she wanted were ill-mannered rumors about the situation, and she at once knew that it would be no easy ride from here. As she followed the insectoid, she became apprehensive of what kind of people she would meet; what they conjured up in their minds, from the stares she got. These Geonosians knew who she was, and who she had come with. Back at them, she offered a small, quirky smile, and kept moving. Her guide talked on continuously, but she only remotely heard him, for she was lost in the great architecture of the lofty, suddenly greatly spacious area. The red rock had been completely carved out until it was large enough to construct different levels and flights of stairs in. Pillars rose to the ceiling, preventing cave-ins and adding to the already spectacular array of objects.

The Geonosian noticed her gawking half way through, and interposed, "Such works of art my ancestors created. We have only to append what already exists. Do _you_ have any such things on _your _world?" He wasn't trying to be smug about anything, and Athela reacted completely in awe.

"We---have little as grand as this... The only structures of worth are our great temples. There are also ruins, but none know of what they once were or how they got there. I personally assume they were from when those offworlders came centuries ago. But this... I have never seen anything like it..."

The sound of the Geonosian language filled her ears, her head snapping down to see three other young ones---much like her friend---standing together in front of her. They pointed and made animated gestures towards her, chattering away in their tongue. One reached out and poked at her shoulder, gasping and jumping back, its wings twitching and eyes wide. Its two companions laughed, and said something to her guide. He nodded and translated. "They thought you were a figment."

"Can they understand what I am saying?"

"Yes."

Athela stepped up to them. "Your friend here tells me you wonder why I am alive."

They agreed, the one who had poked her joked with the one nearest to it, the two then breaking out into a fresh round of amusement. Athela glared at the basic speaking one, who stood off to the side so she wouldn't get confused about who was who.

"He claims that---" The Geonosian stopped when the other repeated his joke, tense. "Wait. No... never mind. You probably don't want to know."

She frowned in disgust, holding back a presumably equal insult. "And these are the vaunted friends that were so excited that I lived? I think you have your cohorts mixed up..."

"Well I---" He was interrupted again while one that hadn't talked yet piped up. "Oh, all right. He wants me to tell you that he saw the general, and that he was looking for you... He also said some other things, but I figured I would leave those out for your own---"

Before he could finish, Athela had started back the way she came from, with her guide following close behind, shouting something back at his fellow aliens in his language. She heard him say something choked off as she hustled back through the tunnels to the landing area.

When she arrived back, she found the cyborg barking orders at who she knew to be their pilot. As much as she tried to stay out of sight, it was like he had eyes in the back of his head, and he saw he before she even had a chance. "And where have you been?" He demanded impatiently, not bothering to acknowledge the Geonosian. "Off loitering no doubt... Never mind that. We are leaving."

Athela glanced once at her guide, nodded a farewell, and quickly boarded the ship before she ended up being thrust into it. The inside of it was almost exactly like that of the newer variety they had disembarked from, except painfully smaller.

_Three days stuck in here huh_...? _Great..._

*-*-*-*-*-*

Rahkah walked unaccompanied through the dark trees, adrift in thought. Something was about to happen; his dreams over the past few days told it all.

From time to time he would wonder why he was still living. He surely didn't have providence on his side, and had not only disgraced his name in the past, but had also disgraced the names of so many others. One needed only to ask about his upbringing to know that...

Rahkah wasn't one to talk about his depressing childhood. It had all started out fine---with the normal family unit and many siblings to grow up with. His mother had left when he was very small, leaving him in the care of his father, who was a brutal and heartless man. Rahkah was raised under the teachings that if life was ruthless to him, he should be ruthless back; destroying to get what he wanted. By the age of seven, he had already eradicated some of his brothers to get his hands on a plaything or a sort of domesticated creature. He killed his way through life after that, and he became bitter. The only thing he could do to temporarily be rid himself of the anger in his heart was to go out hunting. As a young teenager, he continued to search for a meaning in life, and eventually fled his home when his father threatened him severely. He reached the age of sixteen the to enlist in the armies, where he met the leader of the seven at that time, who had been considerably younger back then. For the first time, he felt accepted, and saw a light at the end of the dark tunnel of his existence. Some could say things started looking up for Rahkah from there, yet Rahkah himself still wanted more.

A substantiality came to him when he discovered a young man, who had a father with such a reputation that only the gods overshadowed it. The boy was thirteen at the time Rahkah was twenty five, and a strong, mentoring bond had formed after that. Then, Rahkah had fallen into black, and took on a very different lifestyle than his growing friend showed signs of having. Rahkah was converted into a disreputable personage, proceeding to forget completely about the war and everything he stood for over the course of eight long, agonizing years until he rejoined his fellow warriors on the battlefield once more. He stole from his old home, stopping short of assassinating his corrupt father, but only because he was caught by guards and had to make a hasty getaway to save his own neck. He had a family of his own by that point, but never had time for more then a quick pat on the head for his children and a wordless goodbye for his wives. Up until his alleged death, his life had been secretive and explicitly deranged. Many times he would find himself gazing up at the sky, uttering silent prayers to his ancestors in a sad endeavor to clean up his ways... but it never seemed to work, and he had given up trying to change his ways now---fraudulent and miserable.

He couldn't even begin to count the days when he had to put on a fake disposition; when he had to _pretend_ to be what he wasn't. Then... well, then, everything deteriorated. It was all the fault of his fellow commander and friend; the thirteen year old who had then been twenty four. In watching him, Rahkah's eyes were opened to what he really was missing. The incompleteness that became clear to him developed into something so merciless that Rahkah couldn't control it. He grew to be an entirely different person, and for another three years after that, he stayed in hiding; watching from the shadows far too many times. People had begun to fear him, and would shy away if they even caught sight of him at a distance. His own family was alarmed if he arrived home unexpectedly, yet through it all, they were the only ones out of the military that didn't truly fear his affects on individuals.

Yes, he had made terrible mistakes, and had dark secrets that only the gods knew, but he was remorseful about it all, and would change it if he could. Which he couldn't... Dealings had occurred for the worst before the rebellion, and it had seemed as if the whole planet had divided over loyalty. Some had remained faithful to the remaining four, while the other two amassed most of the populace to them. Rahkah only watched---feeling appallingly guilty for previous actions...

Things were rather a blur after that, and all he could---and wanted to---remember was the night he almost lost his life. He remembered what the fight was about, quite clearly, and he knew that he shouldn't have said some things, or confessed some things either. Rahkah's agitator spirit had caused him to spread trouble among the ranks, and he had created unrest for many months. Nevertheless, he hoped that all was forgiven by this point, or he would be more doomed than he already was.

And he most surely _was_.

*-*-*-*-*-*

"_Oh, no sir you unquestionably are right, I am not much of a people person and prefer to remain by myself, thank you very much. I come from very far away and never get the opportunity to meet such a notorious persona. My name is Athela Erihdiy. Pleased to make your acquaintance, I have heard so much about you."_

"_I'm flattered, it is not every day that I meet an admirer of mine... May I ask how you know of me?"_

"_No, I am afraid I cannot disclose that information to you. I know many things that are not fit to be discussed in such uncivilized places."_

"_May I ask why you are here in this unsophisticated locality then, Miss?"_

"_Actually, I was hoping you could provide some enlightenment for me, since you appear to know so much. I am searching for someone; an old... friend of my family. Perhaps you would know them?"_

The recurring conversation faded before Grievous could learn more, and he was sure that it had to be true. He _did _know Athela. Now, all he needed to pinpoint, was where, and how... Under what circumstances had they met? What exactly was the basis of their correlation?

As if it would somehow aid his contemplation, he withdrew the pendant he had taken from her many days earlier. He studied it even closer, looking for _anything _that would ignite a memory. There was nothing. It was a perfect object---not a scratch on the thing!

Grievous looked over to Athela, who seemed startlingly lost...

He tilted his head, optically scanning her face. In the back of his mind, he had this strange feeling that there should have been a long, winding scar running from her jaw, up through her right eye to her forehead, but that could have been anyone. It could have been his own mother who had that feature and he wouldn't commit to memory! But... No... It should have been---

"Tell me," to his own revelation, he heard himself talking; felt himself standing. Athela stared at him as if he had just discovered benevolence, and gaped as he walked towards her. "Did you once have a scar on your face?"

"I---I'm sorry...? A---a scar---on---on my face?" She blinked. "Why do you want to know?"

"Curiosity, purely. Did you or did you not once have a minor disfigurement right," he paused to roughly place a finger on her forehead, causing her to yelp from the force he could not prevent. "Here," replacing his index finger on her jaw he attempted to picture it, "to here?"

She prolonged her gaping, and Grievous withdrew while she formulated a decent reply that astonishingly didn't involve derision on his part. "N---no sir... I---I---" she shook her head, confused. "I don't think I've ever had a scar there... sir."

"Never?"

"I don't think so..."

"A relative of yours?"

"'Don't have any. They are all dead."

"Good for them." Grievous said dryly, taking his seat again.

"Um---not to sound _offensive_ or anything, but why do you care?"

Athela wanted to know why did she? He didn't have an answer for her that wouldn't give anything about himself away, so he replied simply: "That is not for you to know."

"Yeah... never mind... I shouldn't have asked."

_No disagreement there... _"You are right. You should not have. My motives are my own."

That was no lie. Grievous never revealed his purposes to anyone, even when mortal.

"What value is it to you?"

His attention, momentarily centered on the floor, flicked back to her. "What? Can I not have a reason to keep some things to myself!?" Only then, did she point at her pendant, which he still held in one hand. "A bit meddlesome are we?"

"Well... _yes_, considering that you _stole _it from me!" Athela stifled what she really wanted to say and struggled to control her voice. "You really don't understand how important it is to me! It belonged to---"

"I do not care _who _it belonged to! You---"

He was interrupted by the clicking of the Geonosian pilot. Not knowing what to make of it, he rose quickly and entered the cockpit. The vermin was landing the ship!

"Just what do you think you are doing?!" Grievous snarled, but it was useless. By not being acquainted with the Geonosian tongue, he couldn't know what was wrong. "Is there something wrong with this craft?" It was the only valid reason. The pilot wagged his head up and down energetically, making hand motions towards the controls and blathering on.

Wrenching the poor creature from his chair, Grievous quickly sat down and ran a series of checks on the current condition of the ship. What he saw infuriated him.

"What is this!?" He shouted at the insect, gesturing at the screen in front of him. "WHAT IS THIS!?"

The Geonosian was crushed against the viewport before he could say more.

_Now what...?_

"Is there something wrong?" Athela appeared in the doorway, gazing across the desert. "What happened? Why did we land?" She cringed when she saw the dead alien lying compacted on the floor. "And why is he dead?"

Grievous ignored her, talking mainly to himself. "So they really are traitors after all. They did this to kill me... to get reimbursed for my failure... Unless... This could have been planned beforehand, so I would have to go out of the way... Could this possibly be why Dooku asked me about---" He swerved to Athela. "Prepare yourself. From here, we walk." He released the exit ramp.

"Wait! Hold on a minute! Can't you fix this thing?"

"Why would I try?" He snapped. "It would be more _convenient _for me to simply _purchase _a whole new ship! Repair it..." Grievous scoffed. "I do not make it a point to waste time on things I can others to do just as well _for _me!" He sighed and headed to the way out, pausing only just. "If you can not keep up with me---go rot and save me the trouble of disposing of you."

He took a deep breath, and stepped out into the blazing sun.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Yeiro wondered where Rahkah had gone, until he discovered the man standing completely still in the middle of a small clearing in the trees. The warrior had his head inclined back, staring up at the sky with the sun bearing down hard on his back. He looked to be unaware of his surroundings, but as soon as Yeiro got close enough, he turned around, a smile spreading across his face.

"Yeiro," he said, almost weakly. "'Get some much wanted sleep?"

"Yes, thank you; I did. I've been looking for you for a while though... Have you been here this whole time?" Yeiro watched Rahkah nod slowly. "Are you okay, sir?"

Rahkah shook it off. "Yes! Of course! But, _please_, kill the "sir". To quote an old friend of mine, "formalities such as the term "sir" are fit for only those who are hardhearted to consent to other titles". Call me Rahkah, its what all my friends used to call me."

"Okay---Rahkah. That thing you said, it sounded familiar..."

"Ah..." Rahkah closed his eyes for a second. "The young man wants to know. No fear. All pain. Just like what once was. I can see why he---" There was a pause. "Yeiro, if I tried to describe them, I would probably insult them, you understand?"

"Yes, but you hold so many secrets! I am surprised you can stand it!"

"Trust me, kid. I can't. I dread I never will..."

Yeiro began to get scared. "Why?" He asked breathlessly, anticipating something terrible.

A long silence followed, and Yeiro noticed that Rahkah was struggling with something mentally. Finally, he asked, "Does the name _Kummar _hold any meaning to you?"

Yeiro knew the name, but there was no connotation to it at all. "I have heard it used on the odd occasion---the name of a deity isn't it?" Rahkah nodded. "I'm afraid I do not have much information though. I was only told so much by my mother, who knew very little and kept most of what she knew to herself."

Rahkah gave a short laugh. "Then she was a better person then I first had the impression of... No one was bold enough to even say the name after everything happened." His eyes had a distant look in them as he spoke. "I remember it all like it was yesterday. The aggression... There were so many dead opposers among our own people that I feared a complete revolt... all concerning one who is now no more then a memory to those who saw the dark times. Weird how it all fell apart, huh?"

"Wait. I'm confused... You're saying you knew this..." Yeiro made a spherical motion in the air searching for a innocuous word. "_Person_, who it now dead and has no relevance to the society?"

"Relevance to the--- _Of course _she had _relevance_! 'One of them filthy _half-breed gods_ she was. No doubt possessed somehow, 'cause she had an effect on all of us. Do not even begin to assume that everything was what it seemed, my young learner. There was much silence between all of us after our group of six became seven---"

Yeiro stopped him. "So _that_ is it then! You didn't want to tell me before, yet... you do now. May I ask again: why?"

"Things... happened; have been happening to me. I don't sleep anymore. I have no inner virtue as I did before I met you. But the truly frightening thing is, Yeiro, I know why."

*-*-*-*-*-*

It had been a long, wearing day of roving without rest for Athela. She had been forced to walk unsteadily after the general ever since they left the safety of that trashy ship.

She felt like collapsing, and aside from the fact that it would be precarious to do so, she didn't want to die. And she knew that she _would_ get left behind if she so much as stopped for one moment.

The heat was fading with the light, becoming quite cold, and Athela now wished that she'd stayed back with the Geonosians. At least _they_ would notice her struggling.

_Surely he can't be _that _ignorant..._

But she was too tired to say anything.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Grievous pressed on, determined.

Dusk had almost passed, with the miniscule fragment of the sun to his back. He had gone over the numerous possibilities on how he could make this go by quicker, and eventually gave up, knowing that all of them had their likely cons. _And _to top it off, he had a mortal on his tail! He couldn't afford that, clearly, and began to hope that she would just give up; go off on her own; rid him of her incompetence.

_One less life to worry about taking_...

Why did he continue to deceive himself? He wouldn't harm someone he knew could tell him the unknown. But what if the _unknown _was meant to stay _unknown_? Then that would _really _confound him...

His _mortal_ brain was telling his _robotic_ body that he needed to stop, but he paid it no heed.

He didn't care.

He no longer was a slave to mortality, and so his mind.

When he happened to take a quick look back at Athela, he saw only a disorientated creature. She had her head lowered, and was shaking uncontrollably. As he continued to watch with great fascination, to his amazement, she stumbled, and fell. And she didn't get back up...

*-*-*-*-*-*

**Gasp...!**


	14. A Minor Setback

_**This chapter gives, what I imagine, a perfect representation of Rahkah's old personality towards his fellow Kaleesh people. You'll notice he's kind of... oh I don't know... **__**whatever he is**_** when he talks, and I just couldn't make this story good without giving the readers just a glimpse of his---well, I don't want to call it **_**old ways, **_**but, hey! If it works! Fine! **

**Chapter 14~A Minor Setback**

A few hours had gone by; Athela knew this when she stirred awake. Her first assumption was that she was on Kalee, and had slept in late, missing _something_ of rather great significance. Then, she felt the texture of the ground. Sand and... rock?

She shuddered, cold beyond measure. Nights were never _that_ cold on---

Athela remembered then, she was on Geonosis, in the middle of some desert with a bloody murderer. What a pleasant though to wake up to. Groaning slightly, she rolled over onto her side, hugging herself tightly to try and warm up. It proved to no avail, and she soon realized she couldn't even see.

_Oh, perfect! Now I'm losing my mind! Ah hah..._

Taking both hands, she drew the hair from her eyes and found herself mere inches from bare rock. Athela blinked once, and pushed up onto her arms, looking around. There seemed to be no end to the desert that surrounded her, and she collapsed with an aggravated sigh thinking: _am I meant to die_? But what if, perhaps she was, as did so many of her people, and in doing that fulfill some sort of divination? Everything had to be so complicated with her, didn't it?! Nothing simple, just plain complex! Transiently, she actually hoped that the commander _hadn't _drug her somewhere and left her there to die on her own, but then she decided that he _would _in fact do something that heartless, and began to imagine that she was entirely alone.

But she wasn't.

To her surprise, she heard the sounds of hard footsteps coming towards her, and reverted to her original position of lying flat on her back. Closing her eyes again, she could feel the shape standing over her's gaze boring into her, and awaited for something horrible to happen. All Athela heard was the subdued rasping, and she risked speaking, "What? You look at me as though I did something wrong..." She said innocently, not moving or looking up at him.

"You _did_. Do you know how much you _delayed_ me?!"

"It's not my fault you didn't bother asking me if I needed a rest!"

He backed up, puzzled yet annoyed. "Now why would I _ever _do such a ridiculous thing as that?! When you are in the company of myself you are exactly the same as I in my eyes. I do not get _tired_. _I _do not _fall unconscious_ without warning! I do not---"

"But surely you know that whatever you may _think _or _want _to think, I am no machine, and I can not be expected to operate like one. I am _mortal_. I have no defenses against dehydration and the humidity!"

Athela expected him to say _something _along the lines of sympathy, but that would be asking too much of him. The actual comeback was brusque, and it had about as much feeling as the rocks around her. "Too bad. You had better pray you find a way to cope, or next time, I _will_ leave you."

Although she found the remark heartless, he did have a point. Mentally, she made a note to stay strong no matter what this wasteland threw at her, but even she knew it would be inadequate.

*-*-*-*-*-*

"Come on, kid!" Rahkah shouted back at Yeiro, who rushed along as fast as he could behind the former leader. Rahkah stopped abruptly to have the boy collide into him, barely swaying him but causing pain to spurt through his entire back. Just meters in front of them lied a focal civic area, teeming with life. People from all different clans and tribes lived alongside each other in peace there, and Rahkah was more then a little panicky about returning. He could never be sure if anyone would recognize him or not, and with that in mind, he turned to Yeiro. "We have to go through here now. Keep your head down, and don't respond to anyone, no matter how polite they are. If someone knows you, which is highly improbable, nod and keep moving, understood?"

"Nervous?" Yeiro's accusation hit him harder then his previous impact. Rahkah began to shake his head, he couldn't let on that he actually feared what people would do to him if they found out. Or worse... What they would do to him if they were to learn of what other terrible things he had done. His lying disagreement became stronger, and it prompted Yeiro on. "Oh, good. Because they are all staring at us."

In his attempts to prevaricate again, Rahkah had failed to notice that a large amount of the civilians had dropped everything they were involved in to stare at the two strange men standing in the trees. Some cocked their heads and seemed to be trying to recall why the one with the unmanageable hair and demented self-mutilations looked so familiar, while others; younger ones, looked upon the adolescent with odd absorption. Yeiro did as he was told, to Rahkah's disclosure, and didn't look any of them in the eyes. Rahkah nodded and did the same, leading the way out into the open. He pushed through the small crowd that had formed, with the kid close behind. When he passed by, _everyone _had their gazes fixed in him as if he were an offworlder. If the gods truly would have been with Rahkah at that moment, he would have been blessed with a weapon of some sort to keep at hand, just in case he needed to remind the populace that he was lethal if messed with. But he was not _blessed_. At the least he was _cursed_.

While keeping his head down, many commented, their words of respect bringing warmth to his indignant soul. This was how he wished it had been when he was younger. When they saw a commander they bowed in deference. Up until that point in time, no one had seen any of the legendary warriors of so many years ago, and with their memories shattered of the magnificence, they all took it as a godsend to see one such as Rahkah walk from side to side of their humble establishment. Years ago, Rahkah would have walked with the swagger of what he really was, but he had nothing to crow about now. Now, all he had on his side was a bright kid named Yeiro who gave him a sick feeling down in his gut.

Oh well. The kid had to count for something...

Speaking of Yeiro, where was he? Rahkah paused to look around, not finding his acquaintance. The boy could have been _anywhere _by then! Who knows who could have snatched him away when Rahkah's back was turned... There were tough people around here, and one could never be too careful if one lacked a weapon. Rahkah, indecisive whether to carry on and hope the kid would turn up, or ask around. With much disturbance, he spun around, his vindictive eyes passing over every individual that looked at him. This simple gesture of supremacy sent most back to their original actions, and he singled out a wiry female that had every impression of being above suspicion. When he sauntered up to her, she saw only his shadow over her, and shied away as most did.

"You..." Rahkah said, drawing out the word. "You seem bright enough. 'You see where the kid who was following me went?"

She studied him for a moment, hesitant on whether she should answer or not. "I---I did not see another with you, sir."

Kneeling down, he looked attentively at her, trying to get a truthful response. "Are you positive that's your answer?" She took another long second, but eventually shook her head and cowered. Rahkah took one hand and flippantly got hold of her throat. "I'll ask you one, more, time, and if you don't give me an answer I like, I snap your pretty little neck, understand? _Where is my companion_?"

Swallowing hard, she replied unsteadily, "He went off to the side, a ways back there."

"And did you see anyone else?"

"No. O---only him."

"Thank you." Rahkah's gratitude was short lived, and he got to his feet faster then anyone cared to calculate, "The afterlife'll be good to you, darling; I'll give you that much." Everyone had turned out to be watching him again, which only invigorated his ache for interest. "You all heard the girl---'told me what I wanted to know and got off completely unharmed." He lurked up and down, past every single onlooker, occasionally glaring at some longer then others, all the while moving his fingers deviantly. "Wouldn't you _all_ have liked to be _that_ fortunate when that bloody murderer came for your kids' heads? Hm? Any takers now?"

Rahkah flat out laughed in their faces, taking in the shocked looks. "I know I would be. But enough about me... You all must be _very_ preoccupied." He spun to the woman he had gotten the information out of, "I apologize for wasting your time; but a piece of advice for your young mind: when a stranger like myself comes up and asks you a question---you reply directly. 'Some people aren't as friendly as I am..."

Rahkah continued on without a further thought to Yeiro. The woman claimed she had seen him go off on his own free will, and if that were so, Rahkah had no intention of intervening. He could just as well take care of this on his own. His deferred affirmation.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Yeiro thought he had seen someone, and had gone off to investigate. The fleeting glance he received told him very little, and thinking that he could get some help from whoever they were, looked everywhere, aiming to find them.

Then he remembered that he was supposed to be following Rahkah. Knowing that the preceding commander would most likely be frustrated with him, he set out to retrace his steps. But... he soon realized that it was harder said then done, and found himself disoriented after the first few minutes. He had followed who he reasoned to be a helper deep into the endless sea of unpretentious, identical housing, and now didn't know where to go. He obviously couldn't ask for assistance. What if someone identified him? What if they found out he was alone? What if he was hurt? He had no way to defend himself if so.

Just when he was about to give up, he saw the one whom had gotten him into all this again. They stood some distance away, a lone soul amidst so many others. Yet, this one seemed somewhat different... They beckoned to him, and he impulsively went to them, expecting them to shoot him or knife him or something like it, but they didn't, they only moved further away when he would get close enough to see them clearly. Yeiro began to run after them, determined not to lose himself for a second time.

He followed them until he came to what appeared to be the pathway he had been on to start with. Rahkah was nowhere in sight, but Yeiro was sure he could find him in next to no time. Making his way up the path, he obeyed Rahkah even still, and lowered his head. Moving faster then before. He saw the man in from far off, and hurried to catch up with him. By that time, he had reached the end of the settlements and was entering the suburbs, where fewer dwellings were and the trees were ample. He caught glimpses of his helper running along side him in the outlying trees, making him concerned about an attack.

When he finally caught up with Rahkah, he fell over breathing hard.

Yeiro went on to explain how he had been helped by an unknown one, and found his way after Rahkah. By the time he was finished telling what had happened, he was in well enough condition to stand, which Rahkah helped him to do and stabilized him. Rahkah suggested that they rest awhile, to which Yeiro didn't object. He was shattered.

*-*-*-*-*-*

While Athela gave it her all trying to maintain a steady pace, Grievous kept his eyes towards the horizon, not certain of what the future would bring.

*-*-*-*-*-*

**I was bored, what can I say?! But, I was watching this awesome movie and didn't have time to work on it the night before I posted it... He he he... **


	15. Wasteland

_**Hello all you prominent readers and reviewers! I know this update was rather short, but I took a break to write some in the "prequel" if you will... Heh---I had a strange idea while practicing piano and well---IT WAS WICKED AWESOME! Expect to see a new story uploaded soon---about Rahkah, to give a slight foretaste... Anyway, I hope chapter 16 won't take too awful long. 'Planning to make it lengthy if possible. The thing with Yeiro is **__**intended**___**to be reminiscent of... **_**other things of **_

_**the past**_**, if you follow what I'm sayin' now? Just wanted to clarify!**

**Here ya' go then! Chapter 15!**

**Chapter 15~Wasteland**

Rahkah remembered there was shouting. Yes---clearly; the infuriated outcry and... and those expressionless faces; those eyes staring back at him. He remembered the pain, after being persecuted for things he had begged forgiveness for over and over, yet never was acknowledged on behalf of it. He remembered the last, sad words that sounded more like a prayer for empathy, said to him before all went dark and he knew no more.

He remembered he couldn't confess; could never verbalize his misdemeanors to the killer. He remembered thinking to himself: _how could he have ever found out?_

_May the afterlife have mercy on your guilty soul..._

Rahkah looked around him. There was nothing as far as the eye could see, but he could _feel _himself being watched; observed by someone. Yeiro was asleep, as was expected from one who had just ran as fast as he could for miles without rest---at least the kid appeared to be at peace. But that didn't mean Rahkah was. He sank down to the ground, ripping up pieces of grass to kill time. Gradually, he grew more relaxed, and began to think that the whole "being watched" thing was all in his mind. The birds and small mammals that inhabited the dense undergrowth created a chorus of twitters and chirps, initiating the tired feeling in him. Unfortunately for him, fatigue was one battle he could not win. As his world began to fade, and the trees above him seemed to spin, he realized that he didn't have to care any longer...

*-*-*-*-*-*

Athela trekked along, the heat of noon on the second day of journeying getting to her. She hadn't been spoken to since she had awoken, and the continuing silence was demoralizing her. Nothing but the wind whipping up sand around her feet pierced the dead atmosphere; the robotic creature not fifty yards in front of her occasionally letting out a few echoing coughs---his only means of announcement that he was still intent on ignoring her at all costs. A more reverent individual would have remained silent the whole time, in preference of life. But Athela Erihdiy felt that such a monster deserved only the respect the dirt under his feet gave him, and failed to care what his reaction would be if she piped up, as so many other times before.

"General?" She had to say it loudly. Fifty yards was pretty far to simply _talk_ in her opinion.

The only visible reaction he provided was a sudden cringe of annoyance, but he didn't say anything in response. Athela, being stubborn enough to know when she had to repeat herself to prove a point, said again, this time even louder and more demanding, "General! Did you not hear me?!"

"Oh, I heard you... Clearly!" He threw back over his shoulder, not even slowing his fast pace down even a little. "I just _chose _not to answer."`

Was that... _irony_? From _him_? Athela narrowed her eyes at the thought, and walked slightly faster, her mind racing with possibilities. _The desert must be getting to him..._ She decided at last, watching him with fascination on her face. _He is not one to show that kind of emotion... _

Essentially, the interest she had in his nature was passing, according to his ever changing moods and outlooks. She knew he was curiousabout her as well, and probably had his own questions he was keeping locked up like he was supposed to. Her first guess as to this had been the notion that she had once possessed a mark on her face; a ridiculous assumption to be sure, but she could only wonder where the query came from within that metal-concealed mind of his. It proved that he had to have _some _kind of a past... Whether it was a pleasant memory shard that had sparked the belief or something terrible was hard to surmise, and Athela gave up trying, for fear of being found out in some way.

"Sir?" She tried, catching up to him quickly. "I am inquisitive in knowing why you have failed to acknowledge me all day." It wasn't meant to be rude, but the way he took it made her feel like she had just been shot.

"I did not _ask _you to come with me. Therefore, I do not see a logical reason to regard you as more then the rocks around me."

With this terse reproach, Athela put in hastily, "Please don't get angry, sir. I only asked a simple question---"

"---that I did not consent for you to ask!" He finished in a snap before she could end the sentence herself. "What will it take for you to learn that when you are with me; with my fleet, that you keep your incompetent mouth shut?!"

"Nothing! Because I don't even _want _to be here!" She calmed herself before she said something that would anger him too severely. The sudden will to show sentiment over her current position, away from her home and friends, came upon her faster then she could identify what it was. "I did not elect myself to accompany you to this place, sir, and I assure you that if I was given a choice in the matter, I would have told you to kill me---instead of saving my life that day..." She sighed. "If only I had known that my future would hold only death when I stared up at your weapon and pleaded for my life. You---you should just leave me behind..."

She stopped, in a gesture for him to carry on without her. But to her great surprise, the commander came to a halt as well, eyeing her strangely, as if he knew he should be more concerned, but didn't know _how_.

"You---_want _to die?" It sounded like he was amazed and confused all at the same time. "I do not think that you should regret your life... Be grateful. At least you have one..."

Then he motioned for her to follow and started to walk in his awkward way, voracious, so it seemed, to get this crossing over with. As was she...

*-*-*-*-*-*

Yeiro was surprised he didn't have his throat slit when his eyes opened, for the first thing he saw was Rahkah completely induced in sleep not ten feet away.

_Oh well... I won't ask..._

Using his good sense of hearing---something that his species all had---he was able to detect the faint sound of water in the distance, and came to the decision that Rahkah wouldn't even notice he was gone if he woke up... knowing him.

When he reached the wide tributary, he glanced around before dropping to his knees at the edge. Quickly throwing some of the water on his face, he stiffened when he heard the tiniest noise. He was almost sure that there were no predators in these---

"Careful now, you might get lost again."

The female voice was almost teasing, and Yeiro froze completely. After he finally got up enough nerve to turn around, he saw a woman who appeared to be only half Rahkah's age. She had no weapons, yet something about him seemed more threatening then any blade or firearm ever could. Appearing to be very agile, it explained why she kept up with Yeiro when he was hurrying to catch up with Rahkah. When he tried to ease his way around, preparing to bolt, she held up her hand; a gesture of peace.

"Do not be afraid, Yeiro. I will not harm you. I have been watching you for some time and have come to assist you." She spoke with such authority that it reverberated through the trees around him. Still... there was something within the manner her voice came across that validated the sway of an armed assassin.

Yeiro, confused terribly even though it had only been mere seconds, said cautiously, "Who are you?"

"I am many things... Though I should think that most of whom I recognize would know me from times past---back when war inundated this planet. These days... People like your _friend_, the long lost hypocrite, are spoken of in myths and legends, while the rest of us lay silent in our own shadows."

The obscurity of the proclamation made Yeiro curious. "You know Rahkah?" That would have to mean she was at least fifty standard years old! She didn't look that old at first glance.

"To my great regret, yes, I do." The momentary causality faded as quickly as it had come, and she returned to her primary approach. "But, Yeiro, I bring a warning to you now. Do not begin to trust that man. He is not one to keep his word... I have witnessed what he is capable of, and it is not intended for the benefit of others."

"How do you know all this?"

"Well aren't you the inquirer? I have watched for years without being seen. You were never aware, but I often followed you as a child---as was my obligation; my promise. I watched you grow up into what you are now, and I only come into the light now to save you from a grief you can not prevent." Yeiro continued to have a question in his eyes, and he was determined to get more elucidation. With a deep, trying sigh, she went on to explain. "I... made a vow to your mother; your _real _mother, that I would be a guardian to you. And that I have been, for fifteen years I never gave up on you, and I won't now."

"Was that why you helped me? Just to fulfill your _responsibility_?"

"No," she shook her head as if he had staggered her with his question. "No, I have grown very find of you, Yeiro, I hope you know that, and helping you now is most important now that you are in league with that liar."

"You can't possibly expect me to believe that! You hardly know me! And Rahkah is not a bad person. He is what he is... Nothing more then a man who made some mistakes and is in denial about it!"

She took a step towards him. "Listen to me, Yeiro. One thing you should know about N'jaere Rahkah, is that he works with your mind. He says one thing and means another, and every word he speaks is more likely then not, a lie. I know what he has done in the past; I know why he acts the way he does, and I assure you that his future life will not be a happy one because of it."

"You... _know _what he did? What?"

"Now is not the time. I must speak to him. It concerns his destination; he can not go there."

"He is sleeping, I don't think that it's a good time---"

But the strange woman would have none of it. She headed back the way Yeiro had come, walking rapidly. Once Yeiro caught up with her, he found her standing over Rahkah, looking like she was about to kill him.

"No, wait!" Yeiro hissed. However it was in vain, and he gave up trying to turn her away, aiding her and kicking Rahkah awake.

Rahkah's first impression was that something was wrong, and he shot up and grabbed Yeiro's shoulders, shaking him fiercely, demanding an explanation. "No! No! Nothings happening! I just needed you to wake up for something!"

"Blast it! What!?"

It was then, that Rahkah revolved his head ever so slightly to the left, and saw the woman standing not feet away. He blinked.

"Hello, General Rahkah." She said smoothly. "So nice to see you again."

"Veliia?" Rahkah let go of Yeiro, who stumbled backwards, befuddled. Rahkah watched her, seeming to know something that Yeiro didn't. His next remark told why he didn't trust her. "You're supposed to be dead like everyone else..."

Veliia, with an entirely changed character, replied sardonically, "Do I _look _dead to you? Same lack of observation you always had, I see."

"Please, don't scar the kid. He doesn't know yet."

Yeiro went to comment that he was still standing right beside them, but stopped himself halfway, for the next series of events completely surprised him. Both the past commander and the outsider embraced, a usual act from two people who hadn't seen each other in over twenty years, but the sincerity from Veliia was shocking to Yeiro. He had been under the impression that there had been controversy between her and Rahkah in the past, and seeing this display of affability made him think twice before making theories like that. "Wait! I thought---" Yeiro couldn't come up with a decent reply that would work. "I thought---"

Rahkah was silent, and Veliia crossed her arms impartially. "That this man should die? Oh, do not worry, Yeiro, I agree fully! But... He was once a friend... until---"

"_Don't_. He knows too much already." Rahkah interjected.

"Oh, does he now? And what would this information be?"

"Did you happen to run in with Ly-khn recently?"

"The guard?"

"Yes. Have you seen him in recent times?"

"No." Veliia ended the conversation, moving on. She looked at Yeiro. "Now... Do _you _know where exactly Rahkah is taking you?"

*-*-*-*-*-*

A novel sensation hit Grievous, and a series of words came to him in one of the moments his thoughts focused on that not of war, but what it would be like if the accident hadn't happened. It was not until he thought of those he once knew, that he recalled the distant things he had promised. The only problem with that was, every time he felt he was making a break through in re-learning things about himself, his train of contemplation would seem to be completely cut short. Grievous would normally kill something to take out his irritation, but seeing as he was out all alone, minus the brash female that he wasn't concerned about at the time, he didn't have anything to slice up. He would just have to wait until he met this... _novice _of Count Dooku's. Grievous snickered quietly at the mental picture of the count's face when he broke the news of his apprentices "unexpected death" to him. _That _would be a laugh!

He now sat on a flat rock, allowing Athela to get a few hours of sleep. He wouldn't have, but didn't want to be hindered any more then he already was. Grievous would never admit it, but he was actually _bored_ with waiting. He didn't have anything to keep him occupied, accept to stare out over the rough terrain, which got tiresome after the first few minutes. With his own sanity in mind, he resorted to shutting his eyes all together; a way to concentrate on the details of the objectives he had. Sure that no one would come and kill him, he allowed his few existing satisfying memories to take him...

Then, something dreadful. Terrifying. _Horrifying_.

_Kill them all... For me..._

Darkness.

*-*-*-*-*-*

**I'm not sure if I'll be able to get the next chapter done by next week, but I shall try my best. REVIEW PLEASE!**


	16. Would They Have Cared?

**So, I literally wrote this really late on the night before I updated, and was inspired by a song by that good ol' band: "Linkin Park". Yeah, music is a big part of my sudden inspirations... This chapter is sorta' random, but... I enjoyed writing it! ****Note to all you people who will probably question my knowledge in the future: ****When I mention about Grievous's people not knowing what he had become, AND if you noticed that I hadn't made Athela "aware" because of it, you probably are thinking that I got stuff mixed up or whatever else you can think of... But I assure you, I **_**know **_**that the Kaleesh people possibly knew about Grievous's transformation, I just liked the idea about making it appear as if they know nothing on the topic. In other words---they all think Grievous is dead. **

**Chapter 16~Would They Have Cared?**

Grievous's soul died, but if his people had tried harder to help him as he writhed on the ground; limbless and nearly on the verge of an inescapable coma, his vision and ability to perceive sound slowly failing, would he have, perhaps, lived on among mortals?

Would they have cared, if he had somehow avoided the death trap that the Republic had planned for him? And if he should reveal his identity to them in some point in time, would they shun him?

Of course not! He was a _god _to them! A _savior_!

But if they were to learn of what he had done so long ago...

His past actions had come back to haunt him, and he knew at last that he had killed more then just _one _of his people. More accurately: _hundreds_; the followers of some men who thought they could "overthrow" him, crushing his attempts at total domination.

Would his family have cared should he have rejected them? Did they mourn his death still? Had they moved on? Grievous cringed inwardly at the thought of a replacement in his home, fathering children that were not his own. On the contrary... would they ever _betray _him? Betray his legacy? Betray themselves?

Which brought him back to his original subject: would they have cared?

There always came a time, so it seemed, that Grievous would question himself.

He knew he was powerful. He knew he was insurmountable to say the least. But was he able to escape from himself? Things had started to happen to him, though he doubted it was for all the reasons he was thinking. He had begun to feel things again---he knew there was something behind his rage. Not simply blinded by his hunger for death was he; not just some meaningless piece of metal.

Often, he would wonder what would occur if he returned to his homeworld, rebelling against all he was built for, and so fulfilling his original intentions. Grievous brought to mind an isolated memory then; a dream he had right before the tragedy: one of the few things he _could _remember. It was of life, a small child coming to him, joyful that he had come back home at the end of the day. He found himself puzzled by this, for it affected him like nothing else. The children he did possess never made him feel so... _complete, and it just about made Grievous go into one of his "moods" while thinking it over._

_The desert was long; dry; dead, but something prompted the cyborg to move faster, breathe heavier. Obviously, this didn't sit so well with Athela, but Grievous couldn't have cared less then, lost in space and times once forgotten... _


	17. More Problems

**Here's the next chapter for y'all. This is the longest chapter I have currently, and there's alot of crucial info ahead of you, probable monotony, and most likely some messed up time lines and such. To that I say '**_**mih**_**' and who cares? I enjoyed writing it... I hope to get knew ideas soon from another school buddy: "Obnoxious One".**

**Chapter 17~More Problems**

The end of the desert neared, and both cyborg and mortal were relieved that they would soon get this assignment over with and return to the regularity of the command ship. Well... Grievous couldn't be sure that Athela felt the same way about reverting to his ship, but at least _he _would be satisfied being back in an environment in which he was in control of what happened. _Not _like nature.

"Hurry." He prompted, traveling at an even faster velocity. In moments, he could pick out the outlines of Geonosians in the air above the rocks, their awkward flying ceasing when they caught sight of the general coming towards them. "Pathetic creatures..." He mumbled, watching them all retreat to the safety of their hives. These insects were quintessential examples by far as to how utterly unintelligent a race could be, other then Neimoidians of course, which Grievous ranked as the first on a long mental list. Still---the Geonosian species did have some expertise in the field of technology infiltration; that was quite impressive for vermin that could hardly see past their own muzzle.

"I fail to see why you hate them so much sir." Athela voiced from not far behind.

Contented that the crossing was almost over, Grievous decided not to yell at her for talking. "They are nothing but inexpressive pests that have no value to this galaxy other then supplying more soulless machines to the Confederacy. I find them repulsive in every which way, and if you had any sense of refinement, you would too."

"_Well_," Athela drew out the word mordantly, "I happen to have _met _and _talked _to one of the alleged "pests", and I am rather pleased to say that they are not all that bad."

"Really? Touching."

"Do you _ever _care for anyone but _yourself_?"

_I did... when I actually possessed things to care about... _"Do you honestly think that I would waste precious time agonizing over what I can not know?"

Not seeming to be bowled over by the profession, Athela's response was solemn. "You do not know it because you _choose_ not to know..."

"Stop insinuating that I can change!" He snarled. "I can _never_, do you hear me, woman?! _Never_! What is done is done!"

"And what isthat, sir?"

Grievous didn't stop moving, intent on reaching his destination. "_That_... is none of your business." His voice was more sinister, challenging; daring her to say more and face the consequences. When she didn't, he found himself feeling somewhat disappointed that he wouldn't be able to show his superiority further.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Grievous walked through the built-up area without a sound, making sure Athela got the hint that she either was to stay put at a designated location or follow him devoid of useless chatter. She had chosen to stay with him, frightened at the thought of being captured and persecuted for crimes she didn't even commit. Grievous would have been at an advantage if she had preferred to stay behind, knowing that negotiating with Count Dooku's apprentice would be easier if he didn't have to constantly be telling Athela to stop talking.

He followed the narrow outside pathways between the rocky towers, always on the defensive in case Dooku's protégé attacked him. He couldn't help but to expect something like that after walking through the desert for three days...

With his modified auditory receptors, he heard the scuffling of Geonosians along the rocks overhead, the occasional pebble hitting Grievous's armor and ricocheting off onto the ground. Having a good mind to pull out his blaster and shoot them down to avoid more disturbance, he held on to his willpower and continued on, in hard silence, nonetheless. Shadows fell over him when he entered the underground tunnels. The lack of light didn't bother him; he could see fine with the help of implants and primary eye structure, and he was quite sure that Athela was the same way, minus the implants. There were no indigenous creatures to worry about now, and Grievous concentrated solely in arriving at the supposed meeting place.

The darkness besieged the cyborg, and it only relaxed him even more then he already was, putting him through stages of peace knowing he couldn't hear or see anything more then the bare rock that made up the tunnel. It ultimately came to an end, leading into---by the reverberation Grievous's claws made on the floor---a large cavern. For some unexplained reason, it seemed darker in there, because Grievous couldn't see anything whatsoever. There was no rational explanation to this other then---

As if on the timing of his own bad luck, the sickeningly raspy voice echoed all around him, sending a unwelcoming sense through him. "You dare come here...?"

"If you want to live, you will show yourself now." Grievous stayed calm, knowing that he had finally found Dooku's learner, but from behind him, Athela had already began to grow annoyed with the fact that she wasn't in on this forthcoming debate.

"Whoever you are, you're a pretty ill-advised person to---" Athela was cut off, as Grievous's cold had collided with her face in attempt to cover her mouth, but it only was successful in giving her a sudden headache.

The female voice circled around Grievous, still echoing animalistically through the empty space. "A very amusing woman you have with you. I never would have thought you had it in you to take such measures to make yourself seem alive like that..." Grievous wanted to find this person and rip them apart for the comment, but all he succeeded in accomplishing was getting even more riled up over it. The compellingly nauseating intonation carried on, growing more wicked by the second. "A _droid_,like Viceroy Gunray so affectionately refers to you as does not deserve to be looked at as... _living... _in the way I assume you are targeting."

A metallic sound of restraint followed, as Grievous struggled to resist going mad with murder want.

"Ooh... Temper, temper... Count Dooku must love dealing with you on a bad day..."

"Not as much as I would like to squeeze the life out of you right now." He replied through a voice overcome with bloodlust.

She came to a stop far in front of Grievous, deriding him, before the blinding lights came on.

No one was there.

The lonely room held only two simple battle droid guards at the other side, blocking the exit and jerking their little heads around as if they were actually alive and curious as to their locality.

A long instance of tense silence elapsed before Grievous heard the grating undertone over his shoulder. "I would think one such as you would think to watch your back... Perhaps I misjudged you..."

"I would not be so quick to take me too lightly." He cautioned, keeping his gaze ahead. "You will find that I am _quite _unpredictable..." Eccentrically, he found that his voice was almost... was it---no; not possible. He, personally, supposed that this was how he acted automatically when he met a new confederate. That was the way he remembered it being with Count Dooku when they were first introduced to each other. His original employer, San Hill, had been attentive enough to familiarize him with the Separatists and their way of running things early on. So when it came time for him to move up in ranks among them, he was no stranger to how far a little intimidation could go when he wanted something done. It wasn't until he had been acquainted with the count, that he truly began to appreciate his power. Dooku made him sick, but Grievous often found himself speaking just like he did to the human's apprentice when confronted with some other important military key player.

Seeming to be covertly piqued at the way Grievous handled the situation, the thin anthropoid creature, hooded and cloaked, stole around him, no sound coming from her footsteps as she unhurriedly moved over to a seating fixture carved out of the wall. It was much like that in Grievous's quarters back on his ship, yet the emptiness made it significantly different. Even as she sat down, the cyborg could identify her inborn sense of grace; most likely from some foreign, mysterious race that lived out in the Unknown Territories.

Crossing her arms, she spoke in a proficient, military tone, "So, you came to negotiate, did you?"

"Of course I did," Grievous retorted bitterly. "Why else would I travel through---"

"I do not need to hear your complaints on the landscape, General; thank you. If you wish to gripe over the native scenery, please by all means go speak to our dear Archduke about it, not I. Now, about the matter at hand."

Grievous took a step forward. "No. _First_, I must address the manner in which you are to speak to me, _student_. There will be no references to my charges directed at me, and I expect your voice to drop from that scathing timbre immediately. Might I remind you that Count Dooku favored me _over _you. Any questions...?"

"Are you always so..." She searched for a word that would be adequate. "_Unpleasent_?"

"Yes!" Athela answered without permission, getting the daunting woman's attention.

Grievous, realizing that this could potentially hurt his control over things, snapped a quick, "Shut up." back at Athela and regained jurisdiction. "I am only brought to that condition when provoked. You bring the misery of the future upon yourself. But I know the truth..." From under her hood, her icy blue-gray eyes showed her defiance to the coming accusation. "You are no more then an envious---"

"I am more then you!" She was up on her feet, enlivening Grievous's urge to fight. "I am _alive_!"

_That _struck a nerve.

"Oh really?" He challenged. "Then tell me, my naive mortal associate, do you age?"

She could not deny it.

Now, it was Grievous's turn to circle around her, trying to break her down by using his remaining innate gift. "Now then, look at me, I do not possess the ability to grow any older then I was when they put me in this body of mine. To make a long, tedious representation short: I cannot die..."

"Oh really... Thank you for that insight."

On his way around opposite to her, he stopped, leaned in and hissed, "Would you like to know a secret of mine? I absolutely _detest _cynicism, and let's just say that if you ridicule me again... well..." He cut his own threat off to exert his inhuman strength and thrust her backwards. He was aware that she was one of _those _people, who had _those _kind of powers that enabled them to save themselves from falling fairly accurately, but Grievous's timing had been impeccable, and there was nothing the woman could have done to stop the power behind the general's own unworldly limbs. While she got up, visibly shocked that he had actually done that to her, Grievous straightened when he saw her real face, with the dark cloak driven off her and the hood drawn from over he head.

She was by far the most repulsing thing he had ever laid eyes on; a bad human impressionist to say the least. Her bald scalp---and whole head for that matter---were completely white, and the once refined carriage was reduced to an awkward shamble to stay on her feet. This... _thing _was his superior's vaunted apprentice? Who would ever want _that _following them around wherever they went? However, she did comprise some instinctive agility; quite imposing to someone who already thought it from her appearance. Quickly retrieving her cloak, she neatly draped it back over her shoulders, but left her hood down, knowing that it had an effect on Grievous.

"Are you finished with your incivility?" She ordered, sitting back down again and lazily leaning on one hand. "Because I was not informed that this was to be a battle of our strengths..."

"It _wasn't_ until you got insolent." Grievous reminded sharply. "If you were to be more _cooperative_, perhaps this would be as easy as first prescribed to be."

"Fine then. We can fight out our own personal problems on another occasion." She looked thoughtfully at the two standing in front of her. "The girl has to leave."

Grievous shook his head. "She is under strict orders from Count Dooku to document everything that we agree on and report back to him. She stays."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible... You see, what I have to tell you contains valuable information regarding the affairs of the war. Not our original concern."

"I see..." He lapsed over slightly, more relaxed that way. "In that case," he turned his head to glance at Athela. "Get out."

The order was harsh, and it would have impelled an immediate response if Athela had known where to go. There was an discomfited moment where the three of them simply stared at each other without saying anything. The humanoid woman looked tired, as if bored by this whole incidence, and seemed to be fighting sleep. Grievous simply sought out a resolution that would make this whole meeting go quicker. "Are there any... accommodations here?" He questioned, clipped.

"Yes...? Do really think one of my merit would be forced to stay in this unsophisticated space all the time?" Her head snapped over to one of the battle droids to her right. "Take the anomalous one to one of the vacant rooms. She is not to be here."

Grievous watched with disgusted appreciation as the droid all but crowded Athela away, amazed to find that she wouldn't allow the contraption to touch her, and incessantly shoved it away from her, making clear that she could find her way around without being detained while doing so.

"Well then, General." He was brought back from his thoughts. "I have news for you from our spies."

"What _spies_? I never appointed any---"

"What will it take for you to learn that not everything for our cause is something _you _oversaw?" A glint of self-respect appeared in her eyes. "_I _sent them out."

"And what was the occurrence that prompted such a illogical act?" Grievous still spoke with the authority one of his rank rightfully owned, shifting and interlacing his fingers behind his back in a very imposing motion. "If you had any worth to us, your Master would have told you otherwise. Taking risks like that could get you killed... _assassinated.._."

"Thank you, but I regret to say that I will have to decline your offer. My purpose is not yet fulfilled."

"Purpose?" He scoffed. "Your only _purpose _is to instigate an only fairly suitable distraction for the enemy while I conquer!"

She sighed, visibly unhappy at his true indictment, but intent on not showing it. "You forget why you have come. I don't have time to argue!"

"Indeed you do not. But here you are, trying to prove something. I would give up if I were you... It would make things go so much more quickly." Grievous would have smiled insincerely should he had still possessed the ability to do so. "This is a waste of my time. Tell me your alleged information or leave me to contact a transport."

"No more interruptions from you, and I will." She said scornfully.

Grievous agreed, but reluctantly all the same.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Athela had waited several hours, and there was still no sign of leaving soon. As far as she knew, the general and the other were still bickering over their fair share of worlds and such. _That _would be what she would have to tell Count Dooku. _They had a verbal battle for so many hours I lost track and it eventually ended with both of them trying to strangle each other... _She pictured herself saying that to Dooku and laughed. The elderly human male would probably chastise her for her ineptitude, but what else could she do while contained... or something very much like it.

For an even longer period of time, she paced back and forth, making use of the large, virtually empty space. Before long though, it got mind-numbing, and Athela regressed back to sitting restlessly at the base of the rock wall, much like back on the ship.

She untied a small pouch from around her waist and reached two trembling fingers in to get hold of the contents. There was nothing but an aged piece of paper, which she slowly unfolded. Many times had she read this, but the sentiment it gave her was every time more miserable then the first.

The paper was a letter; the _last _one...

*-*-*-*-*-*

_Finally _done negotiating with that oddity, Grievous dragged himself wearily off to get in touch with his ship, wanting; _needing _to get out of this dismal place. It had too many painful memories...

First things first though. Go to see and ensure that Athela knew they were leaving as soon as possible. He found the place she had gone early enough, for he had considered not even bothering if it took too long. All he had to say when Dooku asked was that she simply keeled over and died out in the desert... One less problem to worry about. But he didn't have that difficulty, so he went with his original plan of informing her that the departure was near. She was sleeping, as usual, when he walked in, and as if the surroundings had never changed, she was in the same position; back against the wall with her eyes closed. One hand laid out to the side, holding something loosely.

Much like on their first acquaintance---or perhaps _not_, but either way, Grievous was starting to have doubts---he became instantaneously interested, and, trying very hard not to make a large clamor with every step, he succeeded in retrieving the paper from her. He quickly picked up that it was some sort of memorandum written in the Kaleesh language. With only minimal difficulty, his eyes scanned the paper and automatically translated it to basic in his head; something that never even crossed his mind before. Apperently, it was adressed to Athela, from someone who never gave their name. It was tremendously depressing, and seemed more like a last testament or something.

It read...

_You are undoubtedly pondering how this came to be in your possession. By the time you read this, many messengers will have handled it, yet never will see it. They will try to take it from you, the wicked people in this world, but it is to be kept a complete secret, never to be shown to anyone else. Not even _

Puzzled as to why the words trailed off as they did, Grievous huffed faintly and continued.

_I do regret to say, that I will not be returning to you like I did so many times before, but do not be discouraged. As I write this my mind races with how my years could have turned out if I were to survive this conflict. The people I will never encounter, and what the future would have held for me. I have nothing now. I only wish I could have done more..._

_But probably what troubles me most of all now, are the things that were left unsaid, and will remain unsaid for all eternity. Never did I take into account the feelings and concerns of others, and for that, you have my most sincere apologies._

_As for all of my worldly possessions, you now own them as far as I'm concerned. Take care of the medallion for me, it rightfully belongs to you anyway---it was as the possessor would have wanted it to be. _

_My final words to you are that you can never stop fighting. Liberate your homelands; resuscitate your kin and bring them home. Do not waste your life like I did. It does nothing for you when you know your time has come._

_I ask only that you do not lose hope, or ever renounce your loyalty, as I did. Stay as far away from the lifestyle I took, and be a good example for those around you who have lost heart. You will be devoured by the will for vengeance should you not heed this warning._

_The fires of scarcity will consume the weak; the deadened; those who still welter in their obsessions and formalities. War will obliterate until the new day comes. When that will be, I have yet to learn. But offers have been made, and I am in a position to accept._

_There is hope..._

It ended there. No signature of any kind.

Grievous knew at once that this had to have been written by him... when he was still in one piece. Or, perchance, had it been written just before his life saving surgical procedure? He remembered faintly in variances of voice he had after the calamitous accident, and he could recall saying something slightly like that of the words on the paper to a friend whom they allowed to see him in confidence before he woke up as... a monster. He concluded that not he, but his ally had written this, while he spoke arduously. Then... that would _have _to mean that, if Athela had this in her posession, that it was originally for her. Obviously!

About to slap himself for his absentmindedness, he folded the paper again, and returned it. Taking a step backward, he angled his head, trying to put his finger on the essence of their connection in the past. When nothing came to him, he quickly took into account that the medallion he had on him was most likely the one he had mentioned and bestowed in the correspondence. Taking the object from his cape pocket with one hand, he looked it over, debating for a moment, but in the end he placed it inside the holder-like item that laid slightly off to the side.

Then he left to continue with his concerns without further notice.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Asajj Ventress often thought of her old master, as was only natural. The attachment between teacher and student; master and apprentice, was strong, and was not easily broken. When disaster struck, it was the responsibility of the living to tackle the future and forget everything. In her case, the pain never fully healed. The life she knew was shattered by those who only lived to destroy. First, her mother and father. Then, the only one who had shown any compassion to an acrimonious child.

Now, Jedi Master Narec _had _been in league with the Republic, but what should it matter since he had been abandoned? It hadn't been his fault that his condemned order deserted him to survive on his own---trapped in a battleground of death and devastation. It hadn't been his fault that he wasn't strong enough to live when they had come to kill him. And most of all, he wasn't to blame for the pain his death had caused the commander, only a child, effortlessly influenced; the result being almost more then the young woman could take. For this reason, and many others, Asajj found life after the loss of a dear friend difficult to cope with.

Her world wasn't kind, and was clearly no place for a deprived, orphaned child to live. The endless variance and lack of sociability hailed a barrage of ruined homes, stolen goods, and dead bodies. Every day brought new challenges and complications for the native Rattataki¾those who refused to take part in the barbarity of their brethren. It wasn't so different from what the Confederacy's flaunted general had to go through when he had a life to call his own, yet Asajj highly doubted his species was as cultured as hers was. The differences were endless!

From her studies of the many peoples throughout the galaxy, and nonstop encounters with exotic types, she had ran across many who appeared to be unclassified, unsure of their own race and world; wanderers. Of course... they had no _real _importance to the galaxy, and usually never lived to see the light of day again when put between a red lightsaber blade and a dead end, but at least it was one less senseless extremist to worry about. Reminiscent of the Jedi... Those poor mad individuals. They actually believed the lies they were being fed? The misguided fools! If only they knew about their comrade's fate at the hands of their precious "Council"... _Then _they would think twice before trusting their praised leaders.

She had endured her fair share of battles; killed more of her own people's legislative opposers then she could count, but never felt completely satisfied with her own accomplishments. There was only so much glory in going to war with droids... And now that that _thing_; that---_deviation _was giving the orders, well, Asajj predicted things would only go downward from here on out. How could they be anything else when a droid was in dominion?

Since the Clone Wars had begun, two months back, the commander had resorted to staying in the shadows. Oh yes, she knew about the professed "generals" that the Jedi had made themselves into, and was particularly interested to see how everything turned out. To date, she had encountered two of the Jedi already, and both had escaped to tell about it. Then she became a hunted person, always keeping things hush-hush and lurking in the dark places of the galaxy. And they hadn't caught up with her yet... but soon... very soon.

Silently, she prowled up the tunnels with the stealth of a shadower, coming to an equally noiseless stop facing the door she sensed the life form was in. Disjointedly growling to herself out of an indefinite irritation, the alien woman in the room stood immediately out of pure respect as Asajj stepped through the threshold. The creature watched carefully, her eyes never leaving the commander; every step she took not going unnoticed. This woman was a hunter by nature, without a doubt.

"I'm sorry..." Asajj rasped out as smoothly as her voice would allow. "I don't think we have been properly introduced, have we?

"No." With that one word, Asajj picked out the well-defined accent in the female's voice, a regularity to someone of _that _race.

"I am Asajj Ventress, a high standing Commander in this growing war. And you are...?"

Asajj was stared at brutally. "To tell you the truth, I don't think I _want _to address you. I have learned to identify a threat when I see one."

She stopped. "Then you must have refused to correlate with the General then?" Before the alien could say anymore, Asajj added with a sneer. "Of course... why would you be here? Unless he _forced _you to come along?"

"Forced? Certainly I was _forced_! But I was promised that my life would be spared many days ago. I for one find that different then one like you just swaggering in here as if you own this world and demanding that I introduce myself."

"Demand...? I didn't _demand_---yet. But if you were to reject my orders, I am afraid I would have to use disagreeable methods for the both of us. For me, it would be decapitating you and making a mess all over the floor... For you, it would be getting your head separated from your neck. And I do not think your nasty cyborg keeper would like that, would he now?"

Asajj laughed quietly when her quarry shook her head slowly. "Well then..." She continued. "Please, may I have your name?"

"You don't need my name. I am from the Kaleesh race, and I come from a poor, humble family who are all dead. You need no more information then that."

There was more hollow laughter. "I wouldn't get smart with me, girl. If you only knew how many I have killed for---"

The disruption was anticipated, as was the thick sarcasm, but the nerve in this woman surprised even Asajj. She had never been shown rudeness like it in all her life, and was essentially astounded that she had it in her.

"Yes! Of course I know how many you've killed! And you know what? I---do---not---care... _at all_! Intimidate me all you want, but you are way off the mark if you think I little threat---"

"Allright!" Asajj snapped, feeling alot like killing this freak of nature just to prove a point. "Be thankful that I do not want to upset my Master with your death. But you have a hard road ahead of you if you don't do something about that mouth of yours. I don't think that anyone will tolerateit in these tough times, understand. And I know for a fact that Grievous wont put up with it forever---"

"_Grievous_?"

"Yes?" The commander cocked her head, not following. "Yes, the _droid _has a name! Just like me and you. though... about you, I can not be sure, seeing as you have failed to tell me.... No droid should be graced with a name to call his own. But, I suppose that a once mortal life would give him his rights..."

"But why... why would he ever be given such a _morbid _name in the first place?"

"Now why do you think I would know that?!"

"_You _are his colleague!"

_And you are his... _She ended the thought, disturbed. "Not yet. We still have to discuss matters with Count Dooku. Then we shall see about this... _alliance _of his."

"Well, colleague or not, I do believe that you should know _something _about him from the Count."

Asajj scrutinized the outsider judiciously, trying to come up with a more intelligent answer then she had in her head. Then she began to think: what was wrong with her? She was sinking to a savage's level? Never! She was better then that! She was a ruler! She was---very confused and troubled over this one person... Maybe the woman _did _have some secrets to tell. After all, she _was_ of the same race as Grievous was, and surely would have heard of him before in some point in her life! Then, why didn't she know his name...? "I know nothing." Asajj lied finally. "My Master wouldn't tell me anything."

"You and me both! I tried to talk to Count Dooku, but all he said was that the general... Grievous would tell me about himself in time. When that time is..." The sentence broke off. "I am curious about his past, but whenever I bring it up, all he will do is ramble on about how I should mind my own business; then go into some deep thought."

"Well then, perhaps he isn't a complete failure after all." Asajj smiled weakly, followed by a perfectly sincere grimace; something that one typically saw on her face these days. "I must ask though, how does it feel to be in such a close proximity with that killer?"

"As a hostage? Or as a living being?"

"Living." "In that case... I find it _interesting_---in a sense."

"One from such a remote ethnic group should very well appreciate the attention from a notorious general. Or is their something I'm not seeing?"

"No. Actually---this is not my first confrontation with someone of military power. Back on my homeworld, the greater part of our armies followed a great leader; one with both power and care for his people. We were all told he was dead, but I know otherwise. I recieved a message," the woman fumbled to retrieve a paper, which she held up; folded and crumpled from time. "I would let you read it... who knows, maybe you could figure out what it's talking about, but I doubt you would understand my language."

"You're right, I wouldn't. I would keep that safe if I were you."

While putting it away, she stopped; suddenly speachless. Slowly, she withdrew a dimly polished object that hung on a chain. "H---how." She stuttered, looking cluelessly at Asajj, who just stood and stared with no concern whatsoever.

"A family heirloom?" The commander said listlessly. "How nice."

"No! I mean---yes! But... I---Grievous took---" She was talking too fast for composed Asajj Ventress, and eventually, the Kaleesh had become very upset, and didn't do or say anything for many moments.

"The General took it from you? Why am I not surprised that he would do something like that?"

"But---that would have to mean he was in here... _recently_---while I was _asleep_ and given it back to me! That is not like him..."

"Who knows? To quote what he odds-on permanently plastered in my mind: he is quite unpredictable. He has his ways. I learned this from Count Dooku, and do not ask. It was the _only _thing he told me. 'Used to be worse though, I heard. But they took care of that when they altered his brain."

"When they _what_?!"

"Oops... I may have said too much." Asajj cracked an even more false smile then before, before she was silenced by the gruff reproach in the entryway.

"I certainly feel you have, Commander."

Grievous came in then, his long cape hung so far back on his shoulders that it trailed on the rocky floor behind him. "Give me a decent explanation and I will reconsider my death plans for you." He hissed, his anger seeming to surround her at that very second.

"Oh, I'm sorry." She answered him innocently. "I had _no _idea you felt so strongly about the lies you were told..."

"Enough!" His livid gaxe traveled to the woman, who still looked at him as if he were a changed man. "We are leaving." Grievous crept around past Asajj, his antagonism directed at her again. "We _will _fight. And when we do; I will _not_ lose."

"That depends solely on _your _will to concede when the time comes." Asajj replied smugly. The general just glared, and she took a step forward to jeer. "I would get going if I were you... wouldn't it be a tragedy if your ship was... _suspended_?"

Devoid of any other retort, Grievous went away and the Kaleesh followed, pausing only just at the door to look back when Asajj said, "Do not think that I haven't noticed your loyalty. You came on your own free will, didn't you?"

A smirk pulled at the side of her mouth. "That proves how little you know of me. And I hope that will never change..."

Asajj was left alone, as always, to submerge herself in her own pitiful life.

*-*-*-*-*-*

The commander would not be an easy one to work with; Grievous was sure. Anyone with that much nerve was---

He stopped the thought to look down at Athela. She had the backbone to oppose him, and he had no intention of dismembering her. Peculier... Of course, it also helped that she was his previous nationality, and that she had pathetically insightful traits on her side. Yet for some reason, Commander Asajj Ventress and her seemed to reflect each other in almost every way.

"Um---" Was that hesitation in her voice?

Grievous was so taken aback that he actually stopped to show she had his full attention---something he rarely did, even for important Separatist members. "I believe you were going to ask..._something_?"

"This is a bit ingenuous, but---why did you give me my neclace back?"

Ah---so that was what had been bothering her; that was why she acted so strange when he walked in the room. Was there suddenly something _wrong _with returning a equitable commodity in exchange for the undisclosed reading of a self-composed letter? Then Grievous thought that since it was _him_, there _was_. People didn't _expect _him to unexpectedly perform a humane deed that pleasedothers; and so they shouldn't have, it wasn't natural. But what if it _had_ been? What if General Grievous were to become attentive to the troubles of others? That would be a disaster right there; he decided, still trying to think of an appropriately accurate response to Athela's question.

At last, "I found out it had no real worth. There was no sense in me keeping it; what would I do with such an adornment anyway? I need nothing of that sort. Do not be _impertinent_!" He liked that---a flawlessly balanced response to an obvious query.

She lowered her head, not looking him in the eyes. It irritated him; when people refused to look upon him because of his mere appearance, but Grievous was not in a "let-it-go" mood in that moment. "You look away now, but when you know all of what these cursed eyes have seen, you will implore to be enlightened further." That got her to look back up at him, another question brewing. "Yes...I read the message you had in your hand." Again, there was a question, but Athela just stared. "That is why, my good woman, that you always remember to keep such valued communication hidden, so that when "_the wicked individuals_" come, they never discover what or whom sent this to you."

"You are a sick---"

"Perhaps... But would I have given your cherished reminder back to you if I was any more?"

"No."

Grievous nodded once, and continued down the darkened tunnel.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Athela wandered out of the ship, gazing around the generally empty hanger bay and curiously deviating on why more droids weren't at hand. She noticed Grievous out of the corner of her eye over getting reports from a super battle droid that he happened to pull aside.

_That guy needs to find more to be concerned about... _

"Welcome back." someone said from off to the right. Count Dooku.

"Uh---thank you." Athela replied quickly, spinning around to the direction he came from.

"I trust your excursion was _somewhat_ successful?"

She made an effort to smile. "Yes sir." Then adding. "I don't know about the General's point of view though..."

Dooku appeared in accord. "He seemed rather incensed when he contacted me... Do _you_ know anything about that?"

"Not really... your apprentice was gone when we got there, and Grievous was really hacked off."

"Ahhh, I see you are acquainted with his name now... Asajj told you no doubt..." Dooku smiled faintly. "She has a habit of being irresponsible, I apologize if it caused you any harm."

"No sir; it didn't." Athela assured him quickly, then saying rather timidly; reverently. "I would be highly grateful if you could find a minute in your busy schedule to answer a few rather brief questions I had." Dooku raised an eyebrow like he always did when he wanted further elucidation. "Nothing too complicated! Just a few simple questions. I'll tell you what happened on the mission first."

It was a tense moment, but finally the elderly man laughed, "Fair enough," he said. "Come with me. I sense that whatever is troubling you requires confidentiality."

*-*-*-*-*-* 

Athela, despite her trepidation of the count, followed him up to a room overlooking the hanger bay. There was a circular window that had a view over the entire landing area.

Dooku sat down near the head of the room, folding his hands thoughtfully on a small table.

"So about that information."

Athela was unsure of where to start, not wanting to sound slow on the uptake. Dooku seemed like such an educated man, she had the urge to look intelligent. When she finally started talking, she didn't stop until the whole account was finished. Dooku had a few concerns, but other then that, he found her observations impressive and well noted, even that "droll fraction about Ventress and the General trying to strangle each other"---which Athela had added in to make it seem more light then it had been. The part about the desert was hard to tell because, though she didn't want to get Grievous in any kind of trouble and risk him turning on her, she couldn't try lying either. So, when she came to the section relating to her getting recovered from the desert after she had passed out, she merely made the description very universal, saving both herself and the cyborg general from a reprimand.

"So you are alive right now... because of my droid General?" Dooku held more astonishment then what was considered healthy for normal man of his age. "Fascinating... I never knew he had it in him."

_Trust me, I did not either..._

Being extra careful not to be too cynical, she took a deep breath, and said, "Now, if you could answer _my _concerns?"

"I will try to the best of my ability."

"Oh, thank you! I really need someone to clear things up for me." Athela figured it would be for her own good if she stopped talking inconsequential nonsense. "Count Dooku," she began, trying to sound in the least competent, "I need to know some things about General Grievous."

The count looked as if he was chuckling inwardly, but all he said was a quick, "Go on..."

"Your---apprentice is it?" Dooku thought about it, but gave a silent reply. "She told me that they did something---something to his mind? Is that true?"

"That woman... She can't keep her mouth shut can she? But I suppose now that she told you... Yes. It is true. Tragic, don't you concur?"

"Uh... I'm supposing I should say yes?"

He raised an eyebrow at her. "What do you think?"

She nodded.

Dooku stood, walking over to a monitor. Athela soon joined him, interested as to what he was watching. She had been so involved in the discussion that she had failed to notice that Grievous had left the hanger bay, and the screen showed him sitting in his quarters now.

_How does he get around so quickly!?_ she thought, then asking with much suspicion. "I thought there were no cameras in his room."

This was overlooked, as Dooku continued to observe Grievous, who was apparently settled for once in his life. "Incredible, isn't he?"

"I guess." She shrugged.

"He was a hard one to break. An associate of mine went to conscientious lengths to come to terms with him. It took weeks."

"What happened to him? He won't tell me."

"And he shouldn't. He was _supposed _to be wiped of all his memories, to make him easier to influence. But regrettably, his only request was that we not touch his mind, I think it had something to do with..." Dooku trailed off, looking over at Athela. "... It was the Jedi who all but killed him. They attacked him because he was trying to harbor Separatist emissaries. He was mortally wounded and a few others and I saved him from sure death."

"What about his race---"

"What should it matter as long as he does his job right?" Dooku interrupted _again_. "Now enough of this vain drivel. I must attend to some business matters. But I enjoyed speaking to you; possibly soon again I hope?"

"Yes sir."

"Until then."


	18. Insatiable

_**Xapis ter cos **_**to you all! ---Please... I beg of you, don't ask--- I know this chapter is shorter in comparison to the last one, but if you're starting to put things together about this fic, this oughta help you even more! I know, I know... I promised action and fighting-ish stuff, and I apologize if you assumed there was going to be more... well... **_**hostility **_**in the past few chapts tried, I really did, but everything came out all wrong and I only had a couple days to get all of it to work out right and I---never mind... Ignore my childish excuses... It's just not my forte, so, I'll keep trying and stuff, but for now, please, kindly don't expect much more then cool dialogue from me... **

**Chapter 18~Insatiable**

_Rahkah, you should know better then that by now... You have an obligation to be a changed man, you'll be up the river without a paddle if you keep allowing those reminiscences pop into your head at any given time... _As he tramped along, Rahkah shook his head on impulse, catching the attention of Yeiro, who walked behind him.

"What?" The boy asked him. "What is it? Is something wrong?"

"No... It's---its nothing. Don't worry about it."

_You have much that is troubling you... Do not deceive me into thinking that there is nothing wrong... _

Again, the former general cringed, his hands rising to his head; gripping his skull. He hadn't slept any lately, and that...

...was because he was afraid to close his eyes.

Nightmares had haunted him ever since he had met Yeiro, and Rahkah was in a good mind to revile the kid and tell him to leave before it drove the poor man mad. The dark nothingness that was his dreams did nothing but distort him further; the people he saw always shrieking about his mistakes to him no matter what he did. There, the suffocating darkness overcame his mind---and so his sanity. It was as his hungers took him, and surrounded him with such painful inclinations that by the time he began to think straight, it was too late...

He felt himself fall to his knees, then collapse face down onto the ground.

_There is something troubling you, I can tell... You are shaking... _

"Rahkah?" Who was that...? Wait... The kid! Rahkah could only hear an echo in the back of his mind. He was sitting there, talking to--- "Come on! What is wrong with you?! Get up!"

"What's wrong?"

Yeiro's voice was joined by that of Veliia, their frantic words only reaching Rahkah dimly.

"What happened to him?!"

"He just buckled over! I don't know!"

Rahkah's whole body shuddered then, his fingers clawing at the dirt around him. He was no longer in this era, but in the previous. The nightmares had come back to him, more vivid and fear-provoking then ever before.

_You know the feeling you get when you're about to do something wrong... I mean---very wrong? The devastatingly guilty feeling deep down, screaming for you to stop... but you always take that step in the wrong direction? Well... that's how I feel..._

_I don't understand..._

_You will..._

*-*-*-*-*-*

Athela cautiously stepped into Grievous's quarters, noting that he hadn't shifted positions since Dooku had last shown her the security monitor. She wondered what he would think if she told him that his room was bugged. After much thought, she decided that if she wanted to keep her face intact she would just keep quiet about it.

As she slowly progressed down to the lower level, she saw that Grievous's spine-chilling gaze was centered on her, taking in her every movement; scrutinizing how she held back because of the motionless repetition of his eyes. Something so human, yet so wicked resided within his stare, that it seemed as though that the very enduring shreds of his soul dwelled inside those iridescent ellipticities of gold. The completely darkened room still struck her as magnificent, but in spite of this, she found it a bit disturbing that someone could live in such a multifaceted place.

"Did you _need _something?" He said, not moving in any way. "I thought for sure that you would have had enough of _this _for a lifetime."

It was cold; the voice he used, ideal for such an antisocial being.

_I have; that's for sure, General_... "No, no! I mean---" she choked on her words, uncomfortable. Sighing, she tried her best to continue in a steady, controlled voice. "I have no answer to that, sir. Either way, it would cause problems, so I have no reply. The truth is that I never really got a chance to thank you... for helping me back in the middle of the desert. I honestly never thought someone like you would find it in your heart to help another... especially when it's someone like me."

The next words from Grievous were even colder then before, and the sincerity in his voice almost hurt. "I have no heart." He said with the furthest bluntness, still not moving the slightest bit. "You of all people should know that."

"You can not expect people to believe that lie forever! And since Count Dooku knows I---" She was cut off when his motionless body suddenly bolted up and towered over her discordantly, one sharp finger placed right on a spot in her throat that would kill her instantly if slit.

"What did you say?" He hissed portentously.

"I---told Coun---"

Bad mistake. "You told him?!"

"No! He---!"

"You TOLD him?! _Why_?"

"We had an agreement," Athela explained, "I tell him all that happened on the mission, and he would answer some questions that I had."

"On?"

She remained silent, and the feeling of the pointed claw piercing the skin on her neck followed. Athela just continued to stare at him, hoping that he would somehow stop. But that would have been too much to ask.

"_What---were---your---questions_?!" The general demanded. "Speak!"

"I asked him about---about you... What they did to you." That just made things worse, and she said quickly in attempt to redeem herself. "Nothing important! Just a few concerns!"

Grievous looked more enraged then ever, but surprisingly, he backed up and sat down again, leaving Athela with a terribly painful puncture on her neck. She then astonished even herself when the simple words, "I'm sorry," entered her vocabulary. The frightening part was, she meant it, knowing full well from the beginning that Grievous probably wouldn't like it if she found out anything about him unconstitutionally. "I shouldn't have asked."

"No you should not have. As if it is not humiliating enough as it is..."

"I don't mean to be forthright, but why do you keep so much to yourself?"

He looked as if he had been ordered to go praise the enemy and acknowledge defeat; the air that came over him being extremely confused and irritated with her. "Those are questions that you do the same with. Do not ask me again."

There was silence between the two of them, and Athela spent those few moments trying to remember what she had come in for other then to argue with him over pointless topics. "Um... sir?" She raised her head to look at him. "I think I had a question for you if you could spare a minute?"

"No, I can not." He appeared to think it over just a few seconds, and said. "But I know you will irritate me about it if I do not give consent. Carry on."

"Oh good!" It surprised her that he actually allowed her to talk for once in his life. "I was just wondering---you know, back on... Geonosis wasn't it? That, if you would approve that is, maybe I could make contact with some colleagues back on my homeworld and tell them I am alive?" Athela's jarring voice ended on an embarrassingly sharp note; in her anxiety she had started to talk rapidly.

Grievous stared at her for an even longer time before he gave a low chuckle. "Your false reverence is almost as amusing as your issues." His eyes glared again. "The answer is no."

"Give me one good reason and I will believe that this isn't some internal conflict."

He lifted his head up in a smug fashion. "A commander does not _need _to explain his underlying principal. Therefore," he relaxed his neck and head, "you aren't going anywhere..."

*-*-*-*-*-*

The light of day streamed through Rahkah's eyes as he regained consciousness. How long had it been? Days? Weeks? _Seconds_? He looked up to see the face of Yeiro staring down on him, relieved yet fretful.

"What are you lookin' at boy?" He growled.

"I would not be so quick to judge the boy, Rahkah." Veliia. "He was very concerned that you were not returning to the land of the living. The way you collapsed like that, we both thought that you had succumb to---"

"Oh, yes! 'Always assume that there's something wrong with little old me! What have I ever done to deserve that kind of treatment?!"

"Would you like a list?"

"Shut up!"

Yeiro stopped the argument. "Can you just tell us what happened to you?"

For the first time, Rahkah wondered about that as he slowly but surely got up off the ground. Could it have been the lack of sleep? Or something else? "You don't need to know, kid. Not now; not never."

"You may not be able to say it, Rahkah," Veliia affirmed stridently, "but I know what it was. And also know why it happened. If you want to talk about it I understand---"

"No." He replied angrily. "_Don't _bring it up until I sort out some things."

"You can not expect to hide forever!"

"And what, may I ask, are you going to do about it?! Tell them all that "General Rahkah came back from the dead to kill them all"? I do not think so..." He ended it with a short, mocking laugh. "I don't think that would fly too well with the public. They'd kill you faster then---"

"Save your social problems for someone who cares!"

"You care."

There was no response that Veliia could make that would satisfy him that she was telling the truth. And it was that topic that came back to him hours later, while walking with Yeiro by his side again---much like he had when..._whatever_ it was hit him. That boy and him had developed a good friendship, and Rahkah promised to watch the kid's back if he promised to do the same in turn for Rahkah. The past leader wasn't what he once was---for some reason he considered that an improvement---in age and ways. In his mid-fifties, he felt age starting to catch up with him, and thus, consequently, he deemed he couldn't quite handle a weapon the way he used to back in his younger years. He was tired of life, and sometimes wished more then anything that he would just die suddenly. Age didn't usually effect his species until way down the path, but when all things were considered, Rahkah was a very sick man, both mentally and physically. He regretted being so indifferent when he was younger, and would probably die early as punishment for it. Rahkah could think of one person who would assure that...

"So what does young Yeiro plan to accomplish in his life?" He raised the question without warning, catching poor Yeiro off guard.

"Gain my right of acceptance into maturity; have a family; live a good long life. All the usual stuff everyone else wants, I guess... Why do you ask?"

_This kid's too paranoid... _"Do you suddenly have something against an artlessly placed question?"

"No. I just want to know why you asked such a thing when the answer is plainly obvious."

"'Just making sure you don't end up like me, is all, kid. 'Just making sure..."

He felt Yeiro staring at him. "You couldn't have had _that _bad of a life if you are still healthy today!"

_You have no idea, Yeiro_... _You just don't have a clue do you? _"I wouldn't say that if I were you. You don't know what my lifestyle used to look like. Unless the third party told you anything?"

"She didn't, for your sake."

"Well, at least she knows better then to tell you things that would probably damage your adolescent mind for life. Let's just say, if she _does _tell you... let's imagine _bad _things about yours truly, you could simply reply that you would never live your life that way and it would be settled!"

"I'm not following."

Rahkah turned his head to find that the kid was gawking at him, and said in a very slow, sarcastic voice: "Do not live like I did."

"But you never told me how you _did_ liv---"

"Then that would be your problem, now wouldn't it?" He began to walk with aggravation in his gait, mumbling under his breath. "Now, I'm gonna' ask you again, kid. And _don't _lie... Did Veliia tell you _anything_? At all?"

Rahkah heard a deep sigh, and Yeiro's voice grew unsteady. "Voices."

"_What_?"

"She told me," he swallowed, "that you hear---_voices _in your head! That you..." Yeiro diminished his allegation before he said something too harsh.

So that was they all thought of him? Just because he had a bad past didn't automatically make him crazy! He had certain lingering memories; yes. But _voices in his head_? Maybe he _was _being just a bit absurd about all of this. That still didn't explain what had happened to him. Then again, _that _didn't explain alot of things... His nightmares. His constant feeling of guilt. His obdurate inkling that everything had to happen to him! Why couldn't he work out all this?

Not sure of how to react, he did what any responsible adult would do: he lied. "The witch doesn't know what she's talking about! That is by far the most mad thing I have ever been accused for!"

Yeiro looked like he didn't believe Rahkah, but he talked as he did before; shaky and unsure. "So you _have _been indicted with other felonies?"

"Mm..." Rahkah shook his head, unconvinced. "_Felony _is such a harsh way to put it. No. No, no, no! I would not say that, not to no one. 'Nasty, nasty people would get under my skin for that one! _Small mistakes_. That's what I would call 'em. Not _felonies_. It's just the way I am. Can you deny me my rights?"

"That would depend on what exactly those "rights" are." Yeiro told him wryly. "The rights of the people or the rights of a prominent individual?"

"See?!" He threw up his arms without looking back. "See what happens when you ask questions?! The degraded man get's annoyed!"

"Were you ever able to get along with anyone other then yourself?"

Rahkah stopped, straitening his back entirely. His eyes widened in sudden recognition, and out of his own fear he said a silent prayer for his life, his terror renewed for the first time in a long time. In spite of everything, he still kept his back turned to Yeiro, and uttered the three little words that he knew would hail dozens of more questions about him. "Yes, I was."

To his amazement, Yeiro didn't even acknowledge that he had even answered the personal question, walking on.

_Thank the gods..._


	19. A New Assignment

**Welcome to chapter 19! WOW! Has it ever been long compared to my previous frequent updates... To tell you the truth, I thought I would be farther along in the story by now, but I suppose all this "other stuff" has been distracting me from the main plot---to which I haven't even figured out for myself yet, oh well! More fun for me! I know it took awhile for me to update, but I started to work on a new story, which you'll see if you bother checking. I kind of needed a little break from this topic, cause' in reality, I'm getting a little tired of writing about only inhuman people for over two years now. So now you know, and **_**will**_** know if my updates aren't as frequent anymore. Lastly, I need to say that the outline for this chapt is not my own. The framework was constructed by "Chuck", so if he's reading this... thanks buddy. One thing I'll confess, is that I don't have much knowledge on the way things are run among the clones and such, and there may be some other fictitious stuff along the way, so please be kind to me in your reviews. I don't want to drivel any longer and waste your time, so HERE!**

**Chapter 19~A New Assignment**

Grievous hastened to his personal fighter, more then ready to fight. He hadn't told anyone where he was going, and Dooku was the only one who knew; had organized it. His mission: go to a Republican capitol cruiser and get aboard without getting killed in the process. He was to act as if he was just a harmless cyborg with confidential information on the Separatists, as a result gaining their trust and acquiring much needed statistics about their motives and conspiracies. Of course his so-called "information" would be fabricated, but how could they possibly know that? When it came to the brains in this war, they were on the low rung of the proverbial ladder. They didn't have the cunning minds that the Sith had; that _Grievous _had. They were nothing.

He was about to board his ship, when that ever familiar deep tone of the count stopped him. "Not yet General."

Grievous spun around to face him, death on his mind. "_What_?" He hissed. "May I remind you that it is---"

"Your ship." Dooku finished for him, agreeing with him fully, but expression still sober. "I know that full well, but for this, I am requiring you to make use of _other _means of transportation, if you know what I mean?" Grievous went to shake his head, but soon saw what Dooku spoke of. An enemy transport, battered and dull, sat alone on the opposite side of the large hanger bay. Grievous looked back to his superior, a question in his eyes. "Yes, General, you already know of what I want. I presume that it will not be too difficult for you to pilot it yourself then? Or shall I get a neutral droid model to do it for you?"

"No." Grievous said abstinently. "The impertinent contraption would get me killed. I will take care of it. I assume I am to say that I _retrieved _this ship from you with only minor difficulty?"

"Yes, unless you can think of something better. More intriguing perhaps?"

Grievous recoiled angrily. "Do not mock me." That was all he felt was appropriate to say in that situation. It was simple but made a hostile point. He shoved a few stray droids out of the way and embarked onto the enemy ship. It was built basically the same as every other ship he had been on, but had a certain feel to it that Grievous identified as only that of an adversary. The cabin was a wreck, with everything in a jumbled mess and blood splattered walls. So there _had _been means of aggression to obtain this vessel. _Interesting_... Thought Grievous, wondering who the passengers had been when the ship was hijacked. He was surprised when he checked the contact history. Not only were there messages to and from the base, but distress calls from the victims as they were murdered, followed by that of the killers---in that case a twosome of bounty hunters---informing the headquarters that the ship was now under Confederacy control. _Why did they not tell me about this_...?

The droids let up the shield for him without delay, and he didn't offer so much as a simple rejoinder to any of them, knowing how utterly useless it would be even if he had the sensitivity to do just that! The black sea took over when Grievous went into hyperspace, and he was able to relax and contemplate his plans of attack after he felt the enemy's time was up.

Awhile after exiting hyperspace, he looked over the controls again, searching for a way to get in touch with the central cruiser. After finding a way, he chuckled and said as charitably as possible for him: "You do not know me, but I have successfully retrieved the craft you lost to enemy forces."

The voice of a clone pilot came through, the Mandalorian accent having suspicion mingled in with the naturally gruff tenor. "Identify yourself."

"I have no number, I am merely a jaded life-form who has seen many things in my life, and I have found myself in possession of a practically unscathed ship of yours that bears the identification digits four-nine-three-seven. Is that good enough for you?" He was _trying _to be sarcastic, in attempt to make this verbal confrontation go faster.

There was a moment of no discourse, until the voice came back to him. "How close are you?"

"I am in range of the main armada this second. Permission to board?"

"What makes you think that we won't just blow you out of the sky?"

Grievous grew impatient. "If you value the information I have concerning the enemy forces, I suggest you refrain from doing that, soldier."

"I don't think we can---" The words were cut off, and the ones that followed had that ever obedient feel to them. "Permission granted, whoever you are."

Satisfied, Grievous concluded in a low voice, "You have made the right choice. Let us hope you continue to do so."

*-*-*-*-*-*

When Grievous began to exit the ship, all eyes turned to him, some widened with fear, others...with sheer awe. There were many clone troopers on the premises, a number of them fiddling with their rifles in attempt to hide their surprise. The ones who had enough backbone to stare were the commanders, or so it appeared that way from their distinct armor markings. Most of them had their helmets off, revealing their identical faces---all broad and authoritative looking. The white shell that covered them from head to toe seemed durable enough, at least that's what Grievous discovered on Geonosis in the dark catacombs that day. But, somewhere in the back of his mind, he couldn't help but wonder what would happen if he crushed one of their helmeted heads with his bare hands...

He stopped in the middle of the exit ramp, ruling them all one by one. His golden eyes glinted furiously on account of the bright lights above him, and he said in his most persuasive voice, "I believe... that this is one of yours, is it not?"

A red armored soldier with his helmet donned stepped forward. "It is. Why do _you_ have it?"

Grievous couldn't help but laugh. "Fool! I am returning it to you! Even a _blind _person could see that!" The clone scowled, spitting out a muffled insult as the others behind him took a step back. "I intend to make this an agreeable experience for all of us, for I have information that not even your best delegates could obtain."

Again, the red one slighted Grievous, glaring. "You speak with the voice of an assassin."

"Perhaps I am..."

The man gave an acerbic sneer and nodded slowly. "In that case..." He raised his blaster rifle, aimed it at Grievous, and ignored the protests behind him. "It's time for you to go."

Grievous only laughed again. "Do you have a name, rebel?"

It didn't shake the determined soldier, and he only said quickly, "A-164."

"My intentions are purely... _unbiased_. I received permission to board this ship in exchange for the return of your missing transport and the giving of classified information."

"What is the nature of this professed data?" A clone with light colored markings on his shoulders and arms asked from off to the side.

164's head snapped over to his subordinate, who pretended to be highly induced in inspecting his weapon. "Don't talk to it, Sergeant."

Another underling of this commander's behind him said touchily, "Give 'im a chance to talk, Captain. He probably has some good bits and pieces."

"We'll let the Jedi decide if he get's to talk."

_Jedi_... Grievous thought excitedly. "Who?"

"Bel-que; currently in command of this ship. What's it to you?"

"Nothing." Grievous mumbled, hiding his anticipation well. "Take me to them so that I may be on my way." 164 summoned a lesser clone---that inevitably being the one who had elected to let him speak and a few others who chose to accompany him---to take him to the Jedi. _My unfortunate victim, you know not what you have gotten yourself into... _He took mental note of the halls; the similar way the metal went on forever. None of his armored "subjugators" said anything, keeping a good distance between themselves and Grievous claws and talons. Maybe they weren't so dense after all.

They lead Grievous to a secluded corridor in which there was only one door, which Grievous assumed the Jedi resided. When he actually saw the woman, he was quite surprised to find that she looked exceptionally young to be in command of so many. Of course he was one to talk...

The human; Bel-que, looked almost too amiable for her own good, and greeted the cyborg with a smile, even as the doors locked behind him. Grievous observed her in a silent, lifeless way, disgusted at the human features. She didn't look more then twenty, but age in her species could be deceiving, and Grievous determined that all theories would probably be proven wrong in time. When she spoke, she had the voice of a commander, yet the same intonation had a suave, almost pleasant quality to it that beat the monotonic droids any day. "You must be the one who brought back my Master's ship. I am sure he would have been grateful had he had lived through that terribly violent encounter."

"You have no Master?"

"No, he was killed by those unidentified individuals a few weeks ago."

"They were bounty hunters..."

"Ah, yes, the message did say something about---"

"...and it was bloody."

That smile was wiped off the Jedi's face. Perfect. "I'm sorry?" She choked out. "They---didn't tell me anything concerning such an ordeal."

"One only needs to make the necessary assessments, Jedi, to see that things were not what they appeared..." Grievous said it in a convincing manner, not moving. "Your comrade's attackers didn't just want to kill for the pleasure of it. They wanted to make a point. And if you knew anything about your precious "Force" you would have already been aware of that."

"Then it appears I should strive to change that," Bel-que's eyes lowered to the interior of his cape, which wasn't his customary one, just to be on the safe side. With a half disturbed, half distressing expression on her human face, she said laboriously, "Were did you get those lightsabers?"

When it all came down to it, the question struck him off guard. He hadn't expected this young one to be so observant. "Gifts, I assure you." He tried his best to lie in a bolstering voice.

"From whom?"

"Your job, this day, is not to take the part of Jedi." He hulked over her, approaching rapidly; wrathfully, yet never did his voice lift to its full resonance. "Your job is to _listen _to me." Grievous stared at her, his reptilian eyes narrowing. He had murderous objectives behind it all... "I did not waste time going coming aboard to---"

"I _asked _you to tell me where you got the weapons, _sir_."

Grievous only snickered, "Well, well, well... the child has some backbone..." His light derision grew to a low, menacing laugh alive with deathly hollow meaning. "I like that..."

The Jedi had her lightsaber ignited in seconds, but still had an sudden uneasy, nervous manner to her actions. The green blade's hilt was the standard design; nothing special to it at all. Grievous intended on drawing out this conversation; to corrode her bit by bit until all she could do was stand there and wait to die...

"Did you come only to ridicule me?"

"Ultimately, no." He confessed, drumming his fingers together in front of him professionally. "You are much too... valuable for that. I imagine you must have means of contact around here somewhere--- I do not expect you to _offer _to disable them for me, so now I am _ordering _you to carry out that action immediately."

"What makes you think that I will do as you command?"

Before she could move out of the way, Grievous had a death grip around both her arms, simply withstanding all attempts she made to fight back while standing completely still again. His eyes dropped to her wrist, to which there was a small comlink. Bel-que shook her head, "No..." Her anger renewed, she somehow managed to get one arm free. Providentially, the arm that held her weapon was still detained, and it didn't do her much good in any way. Grievous wrenched the lightsaber from her fist and deactivated it, jerking her back towards him and shoving the blade end into the side of her head. "If you fail to do as I say, you get this blade through your skull... Do you understand?"

She nodded, and being the young one she was, Grievous knew he had won, and released her, keeping the lightsaber out where she could plainly see it was now his...for a time. Slowly but surely, she shut off her comlink, and scowled at him. "What do you want?"

Grievous held her gaze, the laughter in his eyes unrestrained. "The obvious. I want you to tell me some things..." When he noticed she was looking at the keypad, longing for a way out, he ended it in one quick movement, crushing the metal with his talons, sending small sparks everywhere. "Now, was that completely necessary?" Bel-que just glared. "I think not. You do not know what you have entered by not cooperating..."

She backed up, her resilient expression reduced to a mere shell of what it had once been. Her hands shook, and she drilled him with an astringent stare. He merely tilted his head, smirking mentally but not understanding how the minds of these humans worked.

"Do not be afraid... I wouldn't touch you." He said with all honesty, sickened enough that she was a Jedi as it was. "But I must wonder, you have not attempted to kill me yet. Why?"

"Come any closer and just maybe I will."

Grievous shook his head arrogantly. "I think you would find that very difficult without your lightsaber, now wouldn't you?" He paused, considering the chances he had. Surely this hadn't gone on long enough for his liking yet, and this Jedi surely wasn't as defenseless as he had hoped. "But you would regret doing so even if you had your treasured weapon in your hands, for I carry great information on the Confederacy that I believe would benefit you..."

"I'm sorry, sir, we don't take such confidential information from just anyone. We---can never be credulous to any person who comes aboard. Who knows what kind of people we could get, taking note of our every move; every battle plan we arrange." She was referring to him; he knew it. "I'm sure you're a perfectly good---"

"I would not be so sure of that... What if I am a spy? A traitor?"

"Such as?"

His quick chuckle caused a shrug. "Do you honestly believe I would tell _you_ of all people?"

"My Master, when he was alive, would tell me many things, his travels throughout the Galaxy with his own mentor. They accomplished many things..."

Grievous had a sudden thought, though he couldn't be sure until he asked, his voice completely dry. "Tell me, did your Master ever mention a certain mission to an so-called "enemy" world in the Abajji System? _Kalee_?"

"He---said something about that... He didn't elaborate on it, but his Master was killed on that particular mission I believe; stopping some barbaric race."

"Do you know how he was killed?"

"Yes... He was captured and sacrificed---very brutal. I don't think I should be talking about this. It's time for you to let me go."

Grievous was breathing hard, hungering the demise of this egotistic Jedi. He remembered that. More specifically the many blood offerings that had happened under his word that day. The screams of the victims had calmed him as he sat and watched, the armies that had fallen prey to the foreign weapons nursing their wounds behind him. A menacing smile had crept over his face while he watched them suffer, one by one being broken down. Yet... some had fought back. Some had managed to escape, therefore pegging his race the "barbarians", when it was obviously the Jedi who were to blame. After all, they _had _come onto the Kaleesh's world; his world, expecting his people to automatically oblige their demands. Friends had died at the enemies' hands...

Hatred overtook Grievous and in a hiss, he said, "Did you know that your own Master was almost killed then as well?"

Bel-que slowly shook her head. "No..."

"Did you also not know that _I_ was the one who oversaw _his _Master's termination?"

She started to shake and backed up even further. "What is you name?" She shuddered.

If Grievous could have, he would have smirked as he ignited her own lightsaber. "Death..."


	20. The Earnings of Being Bad

**I know, I know, it was **_**another**_** wait, but I hope this particular one clears up some things for some of my readers. I'm not sure if it's too early to reveal something like this or not yet, but I needed something interesting to keep myself motivated. After this first part, you will see Grievous acting rather unrestrained in his sadism. I, honestly, believe that that kind of behavior is what fans would call the very essence of this unfortunate, cold, commander, and, while he is capable of some degree of empathy, his lack of hesitation in the way he eliminates his enemies was never really brought across in anything I've ever seen. So, his bloody acts in this and future chapters are what I consider a mere example of his ability to quickly change his temperament. The italicized section with Athela is supposed to be the way it is, just to clarify in case there are any questioners. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own one of the lines of dialogue in this chapt. I will not tell you what it is, for the sake of time. So you can figure that out on your own, but I'd appreciate it if you don't say anything about it in your reviews...for the sake of my...ahem...reputation. **

**Chapter 20~The Earnings of Being Bad**

"Where are we?" Yeiro asked, noticing Rahkah had grown bizarrely tense. "I don't recognize---"

"Yeiro." He stopped and looked back at Veliia, puzzlement on his face. "Do not talk to him now. He has not been to this place in over twenty years; since his rumored death at his rival's hands. Since---"

"Enough! You speak of my betrayal as if it was nothing! NOTHING!" Rahkah seethed. "Yes, I know what is bothering me. Yes, I'm trying as best as I can to sort it all out. And yes, my sudden coma was due to a certain disquieting memory that I have to carry around for the rest of my life!" The man ended his sentence quickly, aware of what he had just blurted out. "Ask further questions and die." He threatened, continuing on his way.

Yeiro was confused. He looked to Veliia for an answer, but her face was blank; staggered. "What just happened?"

She swallowed, her mouth hanging open for a moment until she finally found words, which weren't even directed towards Yeiro. "General Rahkah, what have you gotten yourself into..."

*-*-*-*-*-*

They were close now, Rahkah could feel it by the way his nerves tightened every time he took one step forward. The night before they reached their destination, he forced himself to stay awake, despite his great mental and bodily exhaustion. So many memories of this place...

The very spot where he sat had been part of a military encampment; he was sure this was the place. The ocean was near, as was the location in which that slaughter took place. What lied beyond the other side of the trees, was an endless, desolate battlefield, long since cleared of the enemy carcasses.

He didn't know what to feel. Should he even _feel _anything? Express any emotion, even psychologically? There was certainly some positive memories that came rushing to him when he looked around the almost treeless area. But the negative ones overshadowed the positive about a thousand to one.

_This isn't right..._ He thought to himself. _They should not be here...I was destined to do this alone ever since I_---

"Rahkah?"

His head snapped to the kid, who yawned and peered at him skeptically.

"You should try to get some sleep." _Ancestors, he sounds like my mother... _"I know you have not been able to do that lately, but you should at least _try_. I may not know much for my age, but I really don't think that you have been living the best lately."

"More like since I was your age, kid."

"I am sorry, I can't believe that."

He slid further down the tree, slackening his nerves a little. "Look, Yeiro, about tomorrow. I don't think you want to come with me any further. I mean...Veliia...she already knows where I'm going; what I'm going there for. But I do not think, honestly, that you are prepared for this. If you hurry, you can make it home in only a few days."

Yeiro looked hurt by what he had been told. After all this time he was being told to leave? He couldn't do that. "No, sir." He asserted. "I have come with you this far; I will not desert you now."

Rahkah's gaze lifted a bit, so that he was glaring up at Yeiro. "So be it."

*-*-*-*-*-*

Grievous studied the dead corpse before him, nudged it a bit with his talons to guarantee that it was dead. The Jedi hadn't been able to withstand him for more then a moment, then it had been all over for her. Grievous had wounded her somewhat, enjoying watching her fight to stay on her feet from the pain, then ended it quickly. But in his mind, something had gone off; something _bad_, which stimulated the sudden aggressive gouging of the human's body. Never before had he felt so much resentment about himself, for the order that had destroyed him.

Now, he deactivated the lightsaber he had used to kill the Jedi, bent over, and placed it in her opened palm. He didn't want _that_ weapon.

Violent banging on the door followed, and Grievous need only to carve into the metal with _his _lightsabers to be met by a dozen or so clones---some, ones that he remembered from his arrival. They looked around him to see their commander dead on the floor, monstrously contorted and hemorrhaging. Not needing to know any more, they all raised their weapons in unison as their squad leader said in an almost pained voice, "I don't want that _thing _hostage. Shoot to kill."

Grievous chuckled, holding his lightsabers in defense position. They opened fire on him, marking up the walls and a few getting themselves killed from the ricocheting blasts off of Grievous's resistant armor. He sliced through two of them with ease, and continued to block shots near the opposite side of the hall. Pivoting around to one of the clones on his right, inevitably the Captain he had nearly killed when he had disembarked, he stared at him a minute, almost incredulous. The clone prepared to take a shot at Grievous, but Grievous had too quick of reflexes, and dodged the blast as if this was no more then a game. He jumped back, getting a firm hold with both six clawed hands on either side of the Captain's helmet, resisting the struggling to pry his fingers off the undisclosed amalgam that the aliens on Kamino used to forge the body armor. Grievous compressed his hands, all the while keeping a perfectly natural "expression" on his countenance, and uttering a small, menacing chuckle.

The men in the commando's troop looked terribly confused, all wanting to shoot at him but not wanting to hit their leader.

The clone who was about to die didn't seem to care about such notions, all he did was shout hysterically continuous lines of orders to the living.

"Kill him!" He barked at them, pain in his voice. "Kill him now! Don't worry about me just¾"

There was a spine tingling cry from the clone as his helmet merged with his head, then, the crunch of his skull as Grievous finished him off with one, hard thrust from both hands. He fell over, trembling only a second, then falling still; dead. The other troopers looked at each other through their tinted visors, dismayed at such a state of ruthlessness and barbarity. Their Captain was lifeless on the ground before them, now red with the blood the became manifest from under the helmet.

They started firing at him again. The cyborg dodged, twisting effortlessly out of the way.

Eventually, they stopped, knowing it was hopeless.

Grievous just scoffed.

_Pathetic Mandalorian duplicates. No wonder their race died out... and they call themselves warriors? _He thought. _I will ease their pain..._

In one prompt action, Grievous had taken out two of them. The other four tasted blaster fire, leaving gaping perforations in the left side of their chest armor as they struggled to reach their weapons again; to get back up and continue the fight. He shook his head at how feeble they really were, and slammed his claws down into each of their backs, paralyzing them. About to walk away, the sensors in his right ankle felt a hand weakly grab him. When he saw the single living clone faintly trying to stop him, he laughed and turned towards him.

"You must have a very shallow grasp on reality..." Grievous said slowly, kneeling down beside him and rolling him over onto his back. "Unless of course...you are suicidal...?" Ripping the helmet roughly off him, Grievous scrutinized it and set it down beside his head. Forcing the clone to look at him, he said, nearly mellifluous in tone, "Help me and I will let you live..."

"I---will not---help---such a---"

"What other chance do you have?"

The clone's dark face was grim, but he began to nod slowly.

"Excellent..." Grievous stood and began intolerantly pacing back and forth. "Do any other individuals know of my presence on this ship, soldier?"

"Everyone."

"Did anyone who saw me survive?"

No answer.

Grievous wrapped both hands around his victims neck and hoisted him up into the air. "DID THEY?!" He roared, shaking the fighter brutally. "Your chances of life grow more slim every time you defy me..." His voice had just as quickly grown smooth again. "Now, I will ask you one. Last. Time...Have they reported my being here back to their base?"

"Yes. They did."

With a huff, the general thrust the man back down onto the bloodstained floor. Grabbing his wrist with a foot, he winched him back up and hissed, "Time to die."

"But you said---"

He was cut off as Grievous slammed him into the wall, _hard_. He did this again and again, until the convulsing body went limp in his grasp, and he let him fall once more. _To join the others for judgment_...

Grievous glanced around the hall. He had killed them all, and odds were that others were on the way. Not a nice position to be in for a cyborg who claimed to be there on friendly terms. His first mission and he had screwed up everything! Now he would have to kill _all _of them and blow up their ship to dispose of the evidence. Dooku wouldn't like thatfor sure...

_Of course...I do so enjoy seeing his face when I break bad news to him... _He thought, moving down towards a potential way out. He couldn't contact help, because the outgoing transmissions were almost certainly strictly monitored by this point, and he didn't want every single person in the galaxy to know of him just yet. He had been promised by Darth Sidious that when his time to reveal his true power came about, he would know. And now was not that time yet. Not so early in his training, as the count would refer to it as. Grievous called it "uncertainty of his skills". Did they ever once consider that he had once been an highly regarded fighter?!

_Keep asking yourself the same questions...You know very well that they know every little thing there is to know about you... _Grievous has to assure himself of this over and over, when he started to doubt even himself. _Or do they...? _He laughed ironically. _I hope not..._

The quiet of his thoughts was cut off when he reached the hanger that he had docked in. Why did they even bother telling him to bring the ship back if he was just going to steal that or another one again? Curious mortals... He would never understand how their minds worked. The more he looked around, the more he found that the place was empty. Come to think of it---

A single shot echoed around the large space, hitting Grievous in the back of the leg. He rotated around gradually, not keeping his eyes in the same spot for more then a few seconds. From the hulls of the ships came more clones. _Alot _more clones. They all bordered him, the ARC's in the front and the lesser ones with the less effective weapons towards the back. A shaking laugh was what he gave, causing his head to bob up and down slightly. "Go ahead...Shoot me..."

With that consent, he ripped out a green lightsaber and detonated, dismembering any one of them that was in his way. Another shudder of delight went through Grievous as he heard the screams of torture from the casualties upon meeting his blade. He broke into a full run, slaughtering them all like he once did with his enemies, when he was mortal. They never gave up though, and he cut them down like the merciless fiend he had always been, knowing that killing them all was the only option now.

He immersed himself in death...

*-*-*-*-*-*

_Athela was aroused by the sharp banging on the door to her dwelling. It was late, this she knew, but there had to be a good reason why she was being disturbed like this._

_Well... she thought wryly. At least whoever it was has the decency to knock instead of just barging in..._

_She got to her feet and cautiously went to the door to let the individual in._

_The intruder was tall, enough to loom over a average man. Taut, honed muscles were visible through the thick cloak they wore to keep out the cold that she readily noticed upon opening the door. A hood covered their visage, and under the cloak, they presumably carried something._

_They took a step inside, a shudder rippling through their massively well-built body._

_It was then, when they drew back the hood, revealing the all too familiar mask, and when removed, the face, that all dread was routed._

_"Miss me?" he said, voice grating._

_"Yes." she answered, though slightly puzzled._

_"I can see the question in your eyes," he said slowly. "You wonder why I have come."_

_Athela nodded. "Yes---in fact I was."_

_For the first time since his entrance, he withdrew his arms from inside the cloak. The reaction she gave was comprised of shock mingled with alarm and worry. She must have thought him to be some kind of maniac to think that he could ever get away with a crime so great. Her face fell, overwhelmed by some distraught emotion that even she didn't know how to describe._

"_What---what have you done?" Athela asked the soldier, at a loss for words. She studied his dark face, scarred from time. subtle eyes moving up and down his cloaked, muscular physique; reacquainting herself with his startlingly menacing essence. He held her gaze, feeling the urge to speak as she tried to find an answer. In his arms he supported a newborn; a sight to behold from someone as brutal as he._

"_What have I done?" He repeated, scoffing. "What do you mean "what have I done"? If you had any intelligence whatsoever you would see that I am, in fact, holding a child."_

"_But he is not yours."_

"_Genetically, yes. But in any case he will not meet the fate of his family."_

_She smiled in a cynically disapproving. "So who is the father?"_

"_Was you mean..." He corrected. "I can not say. I was not around long enough to ask such questions."_

"_Well, what happened to this little one's family then? Or do you not know that either?"_

"_No, no. They are...passed but quickly; no pain. I witnessed it. There wasn't much time, and I only was able to save him before the rest of them were put to death"_

_Athela couldn't believe what she was hearing. "But...You...You are the strongest man to walk this world since the times of our great ancestors. Couldn't you have dome somethi---" _

"_I was too late!" He cut in, his tone more military-minded then it should have been. "I would have been murdered myself if I had stayed in that place any longer."_

"_You think that is a viable excuse---"_

_He stopped her by simply raising a finger as he did with his soldiers. "Enough of this dismal talk... this is a joyous time; our reuniting." His hand grazed the back of the infant's head. "And I now give you this male child---for I know you will care for him. If I could take him I would, but my duties are too extroverted for that. Treat him as you would your own son."_

_"My own..." She echoed faintly. "What ever gave you such an absurd assumption that I of all people would want a family?"_

_He practically shoved the child at her, forcing her to hold it, and chuckling lowly when he saw the smile. "It is just a wild guess I suppose..." He said. _

_Athela sat the little male down, then turned back to him, who absentmindedly drummed his fingers on crossed arms, brilliant golden eyes darting all around the room. He blinked, knowing that she was waiting for him to say something._

_"You will assure that he does not become weak?" He confirmed._

_She acquiesced. "I will. I promise." Athela smiled. "I am sure...that you would have my head if it was any other way."_

_An uncomfortable silence grew._

_"Ah, yes..." He cleared his throat. "What, may I ask, are you going to do if perchance someone finds him? There will be suspicion on your part."_

_"I know," there was a pause. "I could say I just found him...?"_

_"It might work. But I ask only one thing of you; when he grows older, tell him I am his father. Tell him his real mother died... though I do not know her fate... Say nothing of another."_

_Athela looked concerned. "But, he is bound to have some memory of his real father...I mean really, you do not know who he is?"_

_"No. I don't. But he was probably a much better man then I."_

_"Well, I suppose that is a good thing...Um---no offense meant." She forced another smile. "Does this sudden endowment have anything to do with---"_

_"No." He said more cogently the before, cutting off the subject as if he knew what she was going to ask. "And I expect you to know your place."_

_"My place...? That's a new one."_

_His eye twitched. "I am serious."_

_"So am I! You have changed. Everyone has noticed it. You're not what you once were..."_

_Though she knew it wounded him, he didn't show it. He just said very matter-of-factly, "Well...nothing is what it once was...not just me."_

_Athela sighed. "Let it go..."_

"_That's not possible!" The anger behind it was sincere; the fury evident. "It's not...not possible...never..." He stared at the ground, ashamed of the way he felt. "I...have to go...Many things need to be done...And I plan on leaving this accursed world as soon as I can summon a transport." _

_"You want to leave?" She asked, truly surprised. "I do not think that it would do any good to---"_

_"Believe me. It would. You will see...There is no other way to---liberate myself from this torment." He straitened and gestured towards the infant he had brought to her. "When the time of my homecoming occurs, though I do not know when, I will return and compensate you for the child. Teach him how to fight young; that is my only request."_

_"Easy enough. I had a good teacher, so it'll be effortless...I already have a name in mind for the little guy too..."_

"_Really? What?" _

"_Yeiro." She stated clearly._

_He mouthed the name a few times. "Good, strong name. Meaning 'god-fire'. Yeiro... That he will be..."_

_*-*-*-*-*-*_

**Surprised much? I doubt it...You people are good. Ya knew it was coming eventually! Oh well... Comments please! The next chapts my favorite. **


	21. Haunted

**This particular chapter was planned at the very beginning, when I had just started writing this fic by hand. I wasn't originally going to publish this part, but this was probably the most enjoyable to write out of all my chapters I have up thus far. It was initially going to come later, but I read over what I have so far and figured that something like this was exactly what was needed. As always, thanks "Chuck", and Xoier118, who helped me with this on a retreat up in the mountains 2 winters ago. Also thanks to "Obnoxious One", who actually wrote some of the dialogue for me when nothing would come to my head. **

**Chapter 21~Haunted**

There had to be dozens of dead, bloody carcasses surrounding Grievous. Not one of them was alive, and not one of them got off without being mutilated in one way or another. Satisfied with his efforts, the cyborg general entered a ship that fit to his liking, and left the hanger in a gory mess for some pathetic soul to clean up.

When he was far enough away that no one could pick up his communication, he decided then and there to get in touch with Count Dooku and give a current status report.

"_Have you completed your assignment, General_?" Dooku sounded particularly unpleasant on this occasion, making Grievous all the more eager to cause him more frustration.

"Yes, in fact I have. They all are dead now, and their Jedi commander is one of the fatalities. As for the information you requested...I was unable to obtain it before they caught on to me. Be thankful I am coming back at all. All that precious _money _of yours would be a complete and total waste if they were to kill me off to early in this war...wouldn't it, Count?"

"_Yes, yes, yes it would. But...you're letdown will not go unpunished. I suspect that my Master will furnish a decent castigation for your failure---won't he, General_?"

"Of---course..." Grievous's eyes left the screen for a moment, searching for a series of words that would help him. "Might I suggest another probation period?"

"_You might. But that's not for me to say_."

_I wasn't the one who paid for you anyway_...

That was what he was thinking; that hypocrite.

Dooku continued. "_Well, since you didn't seem to use the strategy we gave you...or any real strategy at all for that matter---_"

"My strategies are my own," Grievous testified. "I need no _diplomacy_. They were given a choice, Count; surrender or die. _That_...was my strategy."

"_Oh yes._" Dooku replied dryly. "_Very well structured_..."

"This conversation grows tiring. I will speak to you when I arrive back."

"_As much as I would like to say the same, I have relocated to my homeworld for a short time on business. I expect you to maintain order for that time until I return. That won't be too much for you, will it?"_

"You forget that I once was a celebrated commander among my kind." Dooku's expression said it all, as before. He was going to comment on how his actions todaydidn't show that. So Grievous didn't let him get the chance to talk. "No. It will not be trouble at all."

"I certainly hope so..."

*-*-*-*-*-*

_Inestimable hours later... _

Athela walked down one of the more remote halls on the general's ship. She stopped every once and awhile to look behind her, making sure she wasn't being followed. This was the only way she could get away from it all: by going where none went. At least she hoped that this was the case.

She felt insecure, to put it simply. As if she was being watched from the shadows; but with Dooku gone and Grievous out on assignment, who could possibly be there to be...stalking...

_This is foolish..._ she thought, _The majority of inhabitants on this ship are droids! They're too stupid to care where I go! So why be so worried that someone's following me?_

Still though, she kept checking behind her, and she kept seeing nothing except an empty, darkened hall. In fact, there were only tiny lights built in on the walls every hundred feet or so, making it so dark that visibility limited to only about a meter in front of Athela. That was why she was so edgy, because if someone _was_ after her they could use the obscurity to their advantage, taking her completely by surprise.

Drawing deep breaths and quickening her pace, she tried to find somewhere; anywhere to get herself out of these isolated hallways. Then a thought hit her.

What if someone _else_ was on board? Someone who worked for the enemy forces, just waiting to strike and kill every living soul on the premises. Unless her mind was just playing tricks on her...which couldn't have been. But, she had heard that the enemies of the Confederacy were cowards---cowards who wouldn't kill unless provoked far enough to do so. The clones, whom Athela had only heard about and never seen, were serving under Jedi---"generals" from what Grievous had so colorfully described them as with a wide range of vivid terms and portrayals on more then one occasion---who she knew for a fact never killed people on purpose...with the exception of those few, like Count Dooku and his shadowy master, who had been killing and harming people for a long time. Athela was impartial to those kind of things. In her eyes, everyone was a bad person from a moral perspective, and never would have the chance to redeem themselves. In her eyes, every single life form in the galaxy was destined for anathematization of some sort...

Even the most innocent persons, who never had done anything bad, deserved all the punishment they would get, all because of _one's _offenses. One's life of transgressions were enough to condemn all those others...Not that she _wanted_ that, in fact, she didn't, but---

_Darkness clouds your senses, but you do not accept it. You stray away from everything you once held dear, and you do not see. Fear surrounds you... _

Athela gave a little cry and clutched her head, trying to make the voice go away. She spun around violently, attempting to see every which way at one time. Over and over she muttered disjointed sentences in her species' language, seemingly losing her basic for the time. Bound by darkness, all she wanted was to be back home. Was that so hard?! To want something and achieve it? To _desire _for an easier life? Obviously on this ship it was...

"He-hello?" She said at last, finding her basic but not driving the suddenly heavier accent from her voice. "Is-is anyone-anyone down here...?"

_...but fear is futile... _

Maybe it was only her imagination, but from the darkness she swore she saw a pair of chilling eyes watching her. Along with the long shadow she was standing in...

But when she looked behind her...there was no one...

*-*-*-*-*-*

Grievous had returned from his mission to find that everything was as he left it, minus the fastidious, elderly human male. Then he had wondered where Athela was. _Strange_... She usually was around being...whatever the ancestors she was exactly. First things first though: make sure that none of the droids had done anything injudicious while he had been gone. He had made his way up to the main command bridge, in an exceptionally dirty mood, and stalked in, making the machines nervous in the process---as if they even possibly could though.

"Did you accomplish anything even remotely productive while I was gone?" He had asked one he pulled aside, shaking it roughly while he spoke.

"I don't know...did we?" The little battle droids head had turned to its colleagues, who just stared blankly at it. "Did we?" It had repeated.

One had stepped out towards Grievous, who had shoved his exemplar out of the way and veered abruptly to the new victim. "No, sir, General, sir." It stated, fumbling before Grievous had torn it down.

"But..."

The annoying, monotonous voice had made Grievous jerk his head back to his original target.

"We...um...did start tracking that weird girl you always---"

Before the droid could finish, Grievous had pushed past it and yanked the two others out of the way. He had eyed the signal curiously, saying something to himself along the lines of, "Regulated for strong heat signals...not what I thought..." He had trailed off when he saw the irritating droid head peering around at him.

"I think you should know, sir, that she tried to escape while you were off...killing things. We stopped her though! But then she started decapitating us... We lost, uh," the droid had counted on its fingers, although it was apparent it lacked the mental capacity---and fingers for that matter---to accomplish that task. "twenty eight, sir."

Grievous's eyes had widened. "Twenty eight?" He had repeated. "And did the aggressor have a weapon of any kind?"

"Not really; no. Do claws count?"

"That is...very impressive. Consider this your promotion day."

"Really?"

"No." Said Grievous, practically snapping the droid in half. The fallen one's equals had just stood there...staring. The general had barked, "Back to work!!"

He had stormed out then, many things on his mind at once.

Now, he considered how he could have handled that situation in a more professional manner. After all, he _was _a general...But should that matter?

_Certainly it should matter!! _He scolded silently. _What's getting into you?! _His eyes told it all, what he was thinking; his intentions and inner thoughts even, which, in this case, were to kill the next contraption that stared at him.

Many droids would look upon him, and he often wondered what they were seeing...if they even had that ability. Did they, perhaps, see something different then the mortals he took pleasure from slaughtering? Did his female hostage have similar views?

Speaking of which...Grievous had to admonish her for trying to escape. On the other hand, she had destroyed droids; he couldn't overlook that! But it had been her own stupid fault for thinking that running from him was an option. Therefore, the military commander part of his mind outweighed his last shred of honorable content, and he went to hunt her down. The last time he had seen her signal, it had been located in one of the most remote halls possible---where no droids went. At first, he considered taking a few of his bodyguards with him, to stress the intimidation placed upon her, but soon felt that it would be more..._amusing _to take care of it on his own. Why not enjoy toying with her mind while he had the chance?

He laughed and threw off his cloak onto a passing droid, causing it to wobble around and crash into the wall yelling over the fact that it couldn't "see" anything. With a deeper, more frightening cackle, he jumped up onto the ceiling, detaching his arms and scrambling along like some sort of insect. True, he had never tried something this strange before, and he got a few scatterbrained comments thrown at him concerning his objectives in the peculiar display of strength. Grievous's response: he didn't respond. How he managed to pull off jostling along the ceiling was beyond his understanding---other then the fact that his inhumanely sharp claws and talons probably had something to do with it, but that was also beside the point. He was indecisive where to go or what to do. There was obviously no way he could go anywhere without being seen, unless... Of course! The readings had shown that the lights in the more unexploited hallways had been all but turned off to save energy. For once, Grievous thanked his droids for doing something right without him having to threaten their lives. As for sound? He wasn't concerned...All the more fitting for his growing plans of torment. First, break her psychologically. Then...

Then...

Then _what_?

_Coward..._ His fraudulent side whispered balefully. _You are a coward...You do not destroy when you know it's for the best...And you know it is...Look at what this has done to you...You worry too much now...Remember the days when everything worked? All you do now is sit in the dark and fret over your past...Coward..._

He stopped, hanging on the metal ceiling, lost in thought. How could he possibly be a coward when he welcomed the opportunity to fight; to take lives? Grievous could hardly remember, but nothing like that had ever been brought up for him as far as he knew. He growled and continued on his way, diverted at how different everything looked from upside-down.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Athela hurried to the elevator, wanting to escape the darkness. She nearly stumbled in her haste, which she knew would have been the point where whoever was following her revealed themselves and almost definitely done something to hurt her. She practically punched the button to let her in to the elevator when she came to it, waiting and looking all around her in anxious terror. Nothing happened. No sound. Not a single clue to what was happening. No open door...

She started to mutter again in Kaleesh, feeling along the wall for some sort of switch for any kind of light, so that she could know for certain if there was someone; _something _down here with her. Nothing; like the answer for the elevator door.

Just then---a large light flickered to life above her head. Her head shot up, but no one was there. In front of her, individual lights switched on one by one, gradually lighting up the dark hallway. Near a turn, there was an outline. A familiar outline with murderous eyes.

She had figured as much.

The commander chuckled, his lifeless tenor filling the corridor with an eerie hollowness that only occurred when someone such as him was in living a life form's presence.

"You!" She snapped, suddenly angry at herself for thinking differently. "Why were you doing that?"

General Grievous did not answer. He just stared with those nefarious eyes of his.

Panicking at what this might mean, she quivered when he began to approach very progressively, his claws ringing out as they collided with the metal. Other then that sound, nothing came from him, and Athela shook her head, slowly at first then faster and more alarmed. He didn't stop; he didn't give any indication of his intentions. He eyed her like a predator with its prey, gaze pinpointed on her head, most likely having thoughts about ripping it off---to prove an earlier point---for what she had done...

"Look!" She swallowed, scared out of control and mind. "If it was the fact that I tried to escape, I'm sorry, okay?! Just don't hurt me!"

There was no reply or reaction from him as he persisted on his advance. When he was about three meters away from her, and when she had assumed she was about to die, he stopped, looked around, and the lights turned all the way off again.

Athela was alert all at once, listening with highly attuned ears for the slightest click of metal on metal. She did here it, except...what should have been in front of her was _above_ her. How was that possible? He had been standing right there! Right in front of her! Now..._above_? Somewhere near the middle of the hall, she heard the sound of one of the ceiling tiles crash to the floor, a trace of his handiwork. Walking tentatively down to investigate, she bent down and felt the large rectangular shape, her hand stopping dead when she touched the large fissures left by his sharp talons. Choking back a curse at that, she bolted up as quickly as she could, and froze.

An inch away from her face was the cyborg's, impassive, inverted and vicious.

"You've been a bad girl..." He said in a sinister voice, more so then usual for some reason. "My droids tell me that you tried to escape..."

It seemed as though for a moment she couldn't breathe; the fear was so great. But then she brought her mind back to reality. What was she afraid of? The worst that could come about was her death. And she wasn't scared about that... Athela knew for sure that it wasn't _him_. Some found him repulsing to even look at, but she had grown used to seeing him. Why should now be any different?

_I'm guilty and he knows it you idiot!! _Her thoughts screamed at her. Even if petrified by the proximity of him, she didn't make any attempt to move, for fear of incensing him even more then he probably was. A feeling in her gut almost made her do so, and it took all she had to stand there, waiting to---

When she didn't say anything, it infuriated him, she saw it in his eyes---which were plainly visible since he was directly adjacent to her.

"What were you thinking?!" She shivered at the deafening level, but still felt the urge to help herself a little.

"I am so _sorry_...I wasn't aware that I did anything wrong..." Her voice was cool, over all, but still quivered slightly in her fright.

"You are perfectly aware of what you did; as you were committing an offense!"

"And what was that, general sir?"

"You can not really expect me to simply _let _you escape after all you have learned!! I allow you to live and you---"

"No!" She shot back, not being able to take it any longer. "It's _you_, _sir_.

You sicken me; the way you are always watching me like I'm a...kill of some sort! I can't stand it here any longer! And when you return from that little world of yours, you'll see that! Who wouldn't want to get away from someone like _you_!?"

He was shocked as she finally got up the courage to move backwards. For another long moment, he looked her over, as if trying to figure out why she had said something like that. Athela assumed that he was going to say something in his own defense, as usual. She assumed wrong.

Instead, he appeared in agreement. "I know that! And I do not need you reminding me!"

"Then why can't I leave this bloody place and live in peace!?"

"You _want_ to know...?"

Fear returned at the abrupt change of the intensity in his voice. She looked once at him, once down the hall, and took off down it. His maniacal laughter followed her, echoing off the metal walls.

She turned the corner and stopped. She heard the resonance of his feet against the floor again, but she couldn't see where he was this time. In fact...it sounded like he was _everywhere_---in front of, beside, and behind her all at once.

_You worry too much...relax... _She tried to calm herself with those words, but it was hard all the same. As quietly as possible, she made her way along the wall, towards what she hoped to be a working elevator---unless they had shut them all down for this purpose. They wouldn't actually do that though...would they?She was about to find out when she finally reached the end.

And...

_Thank the gods..._ The doors opened and she nearly ran in. Quickly typing in the number needed to go to the hall where her room was, she saw the silhouette just as the doors sealed shut.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Athela came to her room, entered, and code-locked it. Not even bothering to turn on any lights, she collapsed in a corner and took a deep breath. Safe at last. Tired and still quite shaken, she closed her eyes and blocked out everything around herm which wasn't much. Her room was plain, and lacked any significant furnishings... She was still sleeping on the floor, but she didn't mind, and had grown used to it by that point. On some mornings, she would be awakened by the small voice of a battle droid. Others it would be the general's body guards or he himself. Usually, he would be in a disobliging frame of mind, and would force her up if she was still half asleep or not, but over the last few days, he had been more reciprocal about her pleas for a minute or so to wake up. She definitely didn't like seeing his face in the morning... Not something pleasant to wake up to at all. It was one thing to confront that monster when she could see, but when she couldn't, that was a real problem right there.

Then, she began to ask herself why she was so afraid of him just minutes before. He had never done much to injure her, and had given his word not to kill her. But then again...he wasn't one to keep his word when the person who was on his bad side at the time was stuck between his rage and an inconveniently placed wall. In this case, she was the person who was on his bad side, and if there wasn't a wall...there would be.

"And this is why you never try to understand the mind of someone like him, Athela." She scolded, crossing her arms and falling quiet.

"Very good..." A voice came, startling her. It made a cold feeling run down her spine, and she tensed almost immediately. "I wouldn't want it any other way..."

He was in here?! How could he have possibly gotten in?!

"What do you want?!" She cried. "So I tried to get away! You would do the same if you were in my position!!"

A pause. "If I were in your position..." He growled. "...I would have shown more respect to all such a powerful life form has done for you."

"Oh, and what, pray tell, is that?" Athela said with developing sarcasm. "Trying to _kill _me?!"

"Do not try and elude the fact that you refused to comply with my rules. The absolute only reason you are alive is because I pleaded your case to my upper rulers! And you defy me!?"

He had a point there... "I never knew you felt so strongly about it, sir."

"If I got a year of freedom every time I heard that I wouldn't be in this rat hole!!"

"How very interesting, _siiir_..." She said in a dry voice, drawing out the term of address.

"Do you never stop?!"

"What?"

"TALKING!!"

"Weeelll...that depends on what mood I'm in. If I'm scared, not so much. If I'm happy---which is rare when I'm around you..." Athela's eyes searched the room for him, not finding anything. "And when I'm in a neutral, annoyed mood, I tend to have an answer for everything you say...Does that clear some things up for you?"

"Mark my words..."

"Uh-huh...So, you failed to tell me. Why can't I leave?" He had barely gotten one word in when she interrupted. "_Besides_ the fact that you do not want your "military secrets" out in the galaxy?"

"What you know depends on what disposition I am in. If I am irritated by you, which I am currently, I tell you nothing. If I am in a better mental state, you might just be able to get me to tell you before I get aggravated by you again." He snapped, rephrasing what she had just said. "I hope that helps..."

"Oh yes; loads..." She sighed, and suddenly, blurted out, "You realize I will keep trying to get away from you until it succeeds?"

"But you must learn manners first."

Athela's mind raced with all the possible meanings of that phrase. So he wouldn't '_kill_' her, but he would torture her until she behaved better for him. But when would that be? When she found out he wasn't so bad and was civil when he could be? Big joke! Someone like him wasn't the type for that!

"What---what do you mean?"

She felt his hand grabbing a hold of her arm so hard that it cut off all blood circulation.

"Come on," he snarled, dragging her towards the door, taking her to his quarters...


	22. Submitting to the Monster

***Sigh*... A short yet important, rather depressing chapter ahead...**

**Chapter 22~Submission **

"_Don't! Please! No more! I'll never do it again I swear I---"_

"_Stop that! You saw this coming!"_

"_I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Stop! Please!"_

"_Learn reverence and I will consider it!!" _

"_What do you want from me!?"_

"_Give me respect! I am tired of your lack of it!"_

"_You don't deserve it! I'm sick of seeing your revolting face! Let me go!!..............................._

Athela was only remotely aware of her surroundings as she came to. She remembered yelling something at General Grievous, then losing consciousness. She moaned; everything hurt. She raised a weak hand to her head, and brought it away covered in blood. Looking around without sitting up, she knew she was in her room, but not in her corner. It took her only a second to realize that someone had just dumped her on the floor, right inside the door, bleeding and comatose. Athela tried to get up, but only managed to prop herself up on one arm before pain overtook her and she fell back to the cold floor. She wasn't sure, but from the numbness, one of her legs was broken; and she had a concussion beyond a shadow of a doubt. She felt like someone was still pounding on her skull, _over_ and _over_.

Despite her pain, she blocked it out, as she had been taught, when training back on her homeworld, and stood---supporting herself on her good leg.

Athela then came to a decision. Through all the agony, misfortune and blood, she knew she had to go make things right before the whole issue got worse. She would just continue to be hurt unless she did something about it anyway, so it could only help her chances...maybe put her on Grievous's good side for once...? _Who am I kidding...after all he's done to me..._

She began to limp along, not putting much pressure on her injured leg, but having little choice otherwise.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Grievous was unhappy.

And when the general was in such a state, he made sure everyone else went away miserable as well---a small token of his appreciation.

So when he heard the doors sliding open, he went over all viable ways of verbal affliction he could invoke for the unlucky individual who dared disturb him when he was trying to rest. It wasn't the fact that he had just been overly abusive towards the Kaleesh woman, nor was it some sort of mental conflict that he had. It was simply a bad day for the cyborg general. He looked towards the entrance and his eyes opened fully, widening. There, standing at the head of his residence, was _her_.

She was barely able to hold herself up, and stumbled up to the stairs. He just observed without a word, not sympathetic over the damage he had caused whatsoever. It was pitiful really, watching such a strong willed woman sink to one knee, her other leg bent awkwardly, before she could get down the first step. It seemed as though for one, quick moment, Grievous considered helping her, but that would have been too contradictory to what he had just done, so he didn't. He would never admit it, but as he viewed this struggle, he actually _felt_ something. Empathy perhaps? No. That couldn't be it...

He continued to watch her, until she was able to get to her feet, and stagger down the rest of the stairs, right up to him. She appeared to give up, and crumpled to the floor, practically face down before him. Grievous tilted his head, unsure of what she was doing.

The next action on her part astounded him.

Weakly, she elevated a hand skyward in his direction, breathing strenuous, and raised two fingers. Capable only of doing this, she said in a voice very unlike her own, "You...caused such damage...You have justified...my respect..."

Perplexed, Grievous found himself nodding in agreement to this. A strange feeling began to come over him, and in a nearly overcome voice, he said, "Why have you done this?"

"It is the least...I could do...for---"

That was all she got in before she fell motionless.

Grievous was at a loss. He merely sat there, as stiff as a board, with his head cocked to the side. He blinked. _What just happened_...? But then, he came back to reality. There on the floor in front of him, lay Athela, face down and unconscious. Should he have been more of a compassionate person, he would have offered to help her _before _she lost consciousness. He wasn't.

Craning his neck out slightly, he confirmed that her one leg must be critically broken by the way it was twisted around misshapenly. He eyed her a moment before standing, covering the distance between them in a few steps, and picking her up...


	23. Better

**Oookay! I know the last chapter was short---come to think of it so is this one---but if I told you my rationalization, you would think I was more off then I already am, so I won't bother my poor typed-out fingers any more then I have to on this boring writer's note. To illuminate, this is the stage setter for what I like to think of as "part two" of this story when more things start to be revealed to ya and all that good naughty stuff...hee-hee, aha. Ha, hoo, hee, ha-ha, ha-ha...............ha... **

**Chapter 23~Getting Better...**

Grievous received word a long time later about the state of Athela, and he left the darkness of his accommodations to go demand an explanation from her; a _valid_ explanation that wasn't half disjointed. Somehow he refused to believe that someone like her would willingly act in accordance with the demands of another being, especially a powerful one. People like her...they weren't cooperative. And when asked one simple little favor, they went all out to deny the person who asked them. Grievous didn't like that. So what if he had known her in a past life?! She was a lowly creature; a mortal; a _woman_, which automatically made it all the more appropriate that she knew what rung of the latter she was on in the social hierarchy. All he had done was given her a slightly painful reminder that he was in charge---nothing fatal. He could have just crushed her skull in his claws and ended it, but he didn't. He was more civil then that to his own people.

Unanswered questions filled his head. These were the same ones he had been trying to solve days ago when he had first set eyes on Athela...or...not. It was all too composite for even him to grasp, and the constant annoyance she caused him wasn't helping. For some reason, he had this assumption in the back of his mind that she wasn't so...unsophisticated in past times. And there was the matter of the scar he knew she once had. Why had she said she didn't then? Grievous was sure of it. He had _seen_ it in one of his quiescent stages. It wasn't much to go on, but it was also one of the things he would never admit to anyone.

This, naturally, caused the sudden inclination to know exactly how much damage he did to her for real. In truth, he had enjoyed persecuting the respect out of her more then anything else; the way he was able to dominate with his ruthless strength and cold view of causing others misery. He yanked his cloak up more around his shoulders as he entered the spacious medical center, making the various therapeutic droid models all stop what they were doing---which mainly included trying out new discoveries on smaller test subjects before injecting Grievous himself with them on the occasions when he stopped by for one reason or another---and turned their full attention to him, showing their sickening compliance to his superiority.

"I want a listing of all the current medical problems the mortal that was placed in your care has." Grievous ordered, not wasting any time.

"Yes, General." One said, motioning for him to follow. He waited, until the droid noticed him glaring and said in a rather unsure voice. "The condition of the female is quite complex. Even I had trouble comprehending what could possibly be wrong until we---"

"Just tell me what damage I caused!"

"A severely fractured leg. Major concussion. Three broken ribs, a cracked collarbone along with a wide range of serious cuts and discolorations." It recited, as if it had prepared for this ahead of time. "Do not worry though, the sedatives and other drugs we gave her have helped her some."

Grievous himself was shocked that it was that bad. _I suppose I should have stopped when she told me to...Oh well... _"Is her condition stabilized? No memory loss or delirium?"

"We believe so, sir. She was asking for you. She said that you would not forget what she told you before passing out again. Do you know what she is talking about?"

He considered saying yes, but after a moment of thinking over the possibilities, he said, "No. You must have given her too many anesthetics...Her race is not accustomed to being given such substances. Stop doing so immediately."

"But, sir. The pain she was in---"

"I do not care! If I tell you something, I expect you to obey! Now...where...is she?"

"Follow me."

*-*-*-*-*-*

The ceiling above her spun as she regained consciousness for the second time. When she heard the subtle laughter coming from somewhere off to the left, she shivered. Could she never get away from him?! "It's not funny you know." Athela commented, her eyes nearly rolling back into her head. "The damage you caused me...now I'll have to suffer through those droids of yours for who knows how---"

She winced in pain when he placed a hand over where her broken ribs were and applied enough pressure to almost make her yelp out loud.

"Hey! What the---" She exclaimed. "Ow! Gods that hurts---"

"Remember that little proclamation you made before all this? The one in which you told me I ought to have your deference? I do not let people break their word that easily..."

"You're one to talk!" Another wave of excruciation. "Okay! Okay!" She breathed deeply, trying hard to suppress the ache. "Th-thank you---for bringing me here for help in stead of just letting me _die_ on the floor."

The one she knew to be Grievous was silent, before sighing aggravatingly. "It's a start I suppose...How much pain are you in currently?"

Had she misheard him? Was he seriously asking about _her _state? _Probably just another test that he's waiting for me to fail_... "Um...uh---I'm fine. Yes! Uh...The stuff they gave me helped...a little."

"I see...Do you know exactly how much of that "stuff" is in your blood currently?"

"No." She said cluelessly.

"Did you also know that the amount that was given to you would have killed most?"

Her eyes widened, but she didn't look at him.

"You are a very lucky individual. You should be dead."

"You would like that wouldn't you?"

"What?"

"For me to be dead..."

Once again, he sighed, as if she was the most dense thing in the universe. "Oh yes! After I _saved _you and made sure that they stopped giving you lethal medication, yes---I want you dead."

Athela turned her head for the first time to peer over at him. He was seated a few feet away, looking very uninterested. "Was that..._sarcasm_...? From _you_...?"

"_What_?"

"Saaarrrcaaasssmmm. I thought you had that outlawed on thirteen worlds?"

He just rolled his eyes. "I did not come to argue. I came to assure that you were not lying to me last time we spoke."

Athela, stunned that he would even ask her a question like that, said, "Of-of course I was. I wouldn't lie to you about---"

"Might I remind you that _you _gave me your word that you would not even _think _about escaping. And yet! You did. You tried to get away! You _disabled _twenty eight droids that I now have to report to Count Dooku about_. And_, on top of that---"

"I'm sorry but, I do not believe I promised you _anything_."

Grievous's eyes showed a wry expression, as did his stance. He didn't say anything, but everything about his current position screamed _say something like that again and I break your other ribs_. They stared at each other impractically, until he just looked away and glared at something on the far wall. Athela took time to scrutinize him. It was amazing what kind of technology lied outside her small world. It was then, that she first really got to look at his eyes. Other times had been short. Most all the times he was talking to her, his eyes had been elsewhere, as if he was _trying _to avoid making eye contact. He didn't seem to care that she was looking him over this time, though...a small compensation for the impairments he had caused.

"Sir...I was just wondering...from your appearance..." Athela took a deep breath. "From what race are you, sir?"

He blinked, and his eyes, which she stared at, impulsively narrowed warily. "Why should it matter?" He snapped, not moving his gaze. "I am no longer---"

She reached up and touched the remaining skin under his right eye, causing the cyborg to jolt in surprise, his defense interrupted. Grievous stood up hardheartedly, his anger evident. He jerked his head around, once; twice, and shuddered. Purposely gawking for a moment, he growled coldly, "Don't..." Something had gotten to him..._really_. He shook his head, long and hard. "Do not...touch..._me_." An almost distraught look appeared in his eyes, and he spun around and tore out of the room, his hands clasped behind his back...


	24. The Calm Before The Storm

**This first part is sorta random, short, and pointless, but I figure I should put something like this in here if it's going to be kinda split into 2 parts. Don't worry it'll go back to normal next time I update...**

**Chapter 24~Intricacy **

For Athela, three months had elapsed without so much as a kind word from anyone. She didn't get that anyway, but it felt like everyone had turned their backs on her. She would have thought that they would have let her get up and walk around by now, but things still seemed complicated, and she knew she had more problems then they were telling her about. The medical droids that tended to her weren't much for conversation. They came in, stabbed a few things of medication in her and left without a word. The boring room made her wish more and more to still be locked in that mind-numbing, original store room...with no light or food even. She felt dead.

For Grievous, he immersed himself in his work, training himself psychologically and corporally. The ever growing war had proved to be quite entertaining when he had finally started heeding the information he was given that he never really cared about before. His probation period was over, and he had been on several successful missions within a single month alone. Count Dooku's view on him hadn't changed---there was still relentless distaste in the human's eyes every time they spoke. The good thing was, that he had started spending more time instructing Grievous in his fighting skills, honing them until he was satisfied. The general had always enjoyed fighting, but this..._new_ way wasn't flying very well with him. He wanted to do things _his _way, not the way of some ancient who obviously never learned to fight. Everything was controlled, not wild and reckless as Grievous was accustomed to. Of course, Dooku was not in disagreement to the occasional request to use some of his original, ostentatiously notable abilities from time to time. To this, Grievous was obliged, and made it a point not to object as much for a few hours. He felt more alive then he ever had in his new existence.

For N'jaere Rahkah, time had began to catch up with him, and he found himself more desperate then ever for a lifeline of some sort. His guilt was growing inside, the closer he got, the farther he felt, as if he would never rid himself of the weight on his shoulders. What ever happened to arriving at the location in less then a day was gone, and he had stalled for months, deserting his two companions to go off in search of more information he felt to have lacked in past times. He felt ashamed.

And, for Yeiro, the simplest of them---he still waited for the daybreak, deep in a pit of confusion...

The lives of these four, all connected once, were about to grow more complicated then any of them could have ever imagined.


	25. The Living Rival

**If this doesn't clear some stuff up for you, nothing will... Except for maybe the next chapter. I got tired of using "he" so I'm just using Grievous's name in this...**

**Chapter 25~Living Rival: Lost But Not Forgotten**

_He sat on a cathedra of solid rock, subtle eyes scrutinizing the small crowd before him. Grievous was in the utmost fragment of his home, keeping a weather eye on the assembly that he deemed worthy. Sometimes, he wondered why he gave consent to the chatterers that came to his door, stressing his domestics and causing an unqualified ruckus. Usually, his answer to their pleas for entrance would be somewhat imprudent, therefore leading to revelries that, most of the time, ended up in violence and even injury. This was something he could never stop. Even though he was powerful, he had no control over civic shirkers who came smashing into his house, expecting that he would automatically have drinks and food out for them or some foolish assumption like that. After finding out that he had overlooked that aspect, they would usually ransack his stockpile of provisions, believed to be plenteous but in truth very little._

_From time to time however, it was more organized. Those were the times when Grievous actually invited certain individuals---customarily the wealthy and nice-looking. The parties generally came after a substantial conquest or campaign, bringing peace to his troubled mind after all the bloody battles he had orchestrated. It was a virtuous time to unwind, occupy himself with his children---who had always tolerated his frequent absence---and catch up on some much needed seclusion with his ancestors. _

_But when he had guests, Grievous was purely impassive._

_Around him were his wives and children, all seated on the ground at his feet---all of them looking up at the progeny of the gods with admiration filled eyes as he stared strait out at the back wall by way of a compassionless face. Many of the visitors tried to converse with his spouses, and consecutively were thrown out by the ever watching royal guards that stood at the entry. The last thing Grievous needed were rival leaders compelling those who he had worked so hard to obtain to assassinate him. He knew it to be so. He knew there was talk of a murder attempt that traitors were planning, and how better to go about it then to convince someone in his own residence that his life was no good to the society? But Grievous had no doubts, all the same, about the loyalty those who coexisted with him retained. _

_On either side of him was a servant, both of which assured that no one got too close to him. Another kneeled at the base of one of the armrests, carefully placing the ornamental rings that were a leading aspect in identifying his class back on his dexterous fingers. He acknowledged them only briefly, before resuming his noticeable stupor caused by lack of sleep. _

_One of his older sons stood and took a step towards his father, cautious not to bring about a disturbance. His offspring were reverent, much like he had been with his own father, but to a certain extent, it was quite different. He was bitter, and hardly ever had time to pay heed to his male children's appeals for a moment of his time to give a simply explanation on weapon usage. The same was so with his daughters. He tendered little more then a bequeathed apology when asked little favors, then he would always go off to brood over the visitation in his dreams. _

_Grievous sighed and turned his head to admit his twelve-year-old son. The boy had glossy black hair as he himself did, and was only slightly shorter then his father. Covering his shoulders, neck, face and chest were scars that all other young males possessed. Yet... it was the only facet on which the son could feel appreciated for, and it brought discouragement to his young mentality._

"_May the gods blessing be upon you." The son began, saying the proper greeting for one of high rank. "I have news for you."_

_Grievous scoffed. "News? How, my son, could you ever have information for me?"_

"_My brothers and I---we were out hunting, and we saw a man who we believe to be the one you seek..."_

"_General Rahkah?" Grievous had misgivings. "It is not possible."_

_Rahkah had disappeared mysteriously after a chain of events that pertained to Grievous's new found hatred for him. The once great general had turned down an offer to join Grievous in his tirade of the Huk worlds, consequentially earning a place on a mental list of potential targets of elimination. Sure Rahkah had been minor trouble in the beginning, but the controversy he caused after that was even greater; even more unthinkable. What kind of a man was he anyway? After all the times Grievous had pardoned the general, he went and pushed his forgiver too far and almost got himself killed in the process. The combat ritual they had both gone through on the spot left its mark on Rahkah---a raw perforation through the upper side of his arm all the way through flesh and bone; a disfigurement that would never heal completely._

_On occasion, Grievous questioned his own mercy for the liar. Why hadn't he just killed the man on the same night he had done away with all of the others? He would not quarrel over the fact that Rahkah was one that needed to die. Many would consider him amiss in his viewpoint, others---would agree completely, for most found Rahkah as sick and corrupt as Grievous did._

_Once again, Grievous found himself stuck between believing his own flesh and blood, or ignoring the boy's claims and returning to his indulgences... _

_"Go back to your mother, boy." He ordered gruffly. "And do not disquiet yourself over matters that are none of your business."_

_His son nodded and returned to his place to sit, throwing not so much as one distasteful look back at his father's curt dismissal. Grievous's detached gaze followed the boy; eyes eventually meeting with the adolescent's mother's. He presented an irritated expression and a slight head tilt towards their son to prove his point. The mother, sequentially, spoke with the boy and soon looked back to Grievous, who waited patiently for a silent response. All he received was a shrug._

_He laughed quietly, turning his attention back to the swarm of guests. They stood talking behind the parallel, torch lined path that lead up to the platform on which he was positioned. The twin incense alters rose like pillars at the end of the course, the smoke that ascended from them drifting across the obstruction in a thin screen. The path was for the persons who felt they needed to come and see him; the alters---solely dedicated for the gods. _

_Probably though, the most prominent feature of the room hung diametrically above Grievous. _

_Mounted securely on the wall, was a mask. _

_The streaks of blood on it were aged; blackened; untouched by any hands other then his own in the engraved skull's life upon the wall where all could marvel at its magnificence. It had been recovered many years ago by a meager civilian who had been walking down one of the remote beaches. The man who had salvaged it had noted the distinctive configurations, and had afterward delivered it charily back to Grievous. For his help, the man had been paid to a large sum of money and food---enough to save his starving family._

_Grievous had refused the suggestions to refurbish it, for he knew, as many others did, that it would destroy the point of acquiring it if the owner wasn't alive to overhaul the blood markings once more. After obtaining the cherished object, he had first displayed it in a private room that only he ever visited. But, as he quickly realized, what the mask represented was a sacred member of the pantheon, and he decided shortly after that a more public place would suit the entity. So, he had it secured on the wall directly above where he habitually sat, where all could pay respects to its deceased wearer..._

_A male servant brought him a glass of the optimum drink the planet had to offer, the people in the room at the time eyeing the matter tastefully. Grievous didn't even look at them. He simply remained deadpan, receiving the deep red-purple substance from the servant and taking a prolonged swallow. Everyone was hushed, waiting for him to draw to a close._

_Silence._

_At last, he dared a glance around at the onlookers. Their expressions invigorated him so significantly that in one swift motion he was to his feet, lifting the half empty glass over his head in a gesture of superiority._

"_I speak to you all for the first time today with a heavy heart... The ones who I once called allies---friends, deserted me... were murdered." He watched as his guests changed from pleased to unhappy in mere seconds. They knew, as he did, that if their commander was disconcerted, they should be to. "Many events have reminded me of times past; of the joy that I lack now in my life of discontent misery." His eyes burned with inexpressible emotion as he spoke, the fingers at his side twitching with the urge to grasp the hilt of a weapon. "And now I ask you, my people," Grievous's voice descended to a gravelly connotation. "Raise your heads to the heavens and express gratitude to the fallen; our acclaimed martyrs..." _

_As each being in the room followed his edict, he elevated the glass in his hand even higher. Inclining his head skyward, he conveyed a prayer to the gods that he dared not utter aloud. _

Another day of life...So easily taken... _He thought, his brow furrowing in disgust for a moment as he remembered his rejection that fateful day._

_So overcome was he by the memories that flooded into his mind, that he felt lightheaded. He collapsed back into his chair, quivering. The sadness was still there, there was no doubt, he just thought he had managed to keep it at bay over the past years. Soon, it would be the end of him. He had tried everything he could now, and nothing had helped ease his pain. His venerated war was crumbling out from under his feet---the empty chasms of his life waiting to envelop him should he make one erroneous move._

_Grievous's reminiscences were broken when both doors at the head of the room suddenly were shoved inward by a strongly built man; an elite. _

_The guard stalked up the path, keeping his wary gaze fixed forward on his commander and ignoring the comments along with words of enthrallment from spectators. He dropped to one knee in front of Grievous, elevating one arm up towards him and tucking the other in the wake of his cloaked back. _

"_General," the husky voice came from behind the mask. "If I may report?"_

_Grievous regarded his guards with brisk incivility, his expression vulgar. "Proceed..." _

"_If my lord would be willing---I would like to herald that we have captured General Rahkah... He was alive all this time, sir."_

_"No, that cannot be..." Grievous persisted. "My soldiers; they saw him die. They watched the life slip from him. How can he be alive!?"_

_"I do not know, sir."_

_Grievous bolted up, straight away getting a cape thrown over his shoulders. He began advancing down the wide staircase onto the ground. "Pray that you find out, or I will have the others turn on you." He came to a stop just inches from the guard. "You know what happens then?"_

_The guard shook his head, his neck craned back considerably._

_"They bring you back, and I burn you alive as a blood offering. Understand?"_

_"Yes, sir." Grievous thrust him backwards, the strength behind it nearly making the strong man lose his balance. "Would you like to see him?"_

_"Would I like to? You know blasted well I do not ever want to see his filth in my household again!" He was livid with anger now, but just as quickly did he regain equanimity. "But..." Grievous trailed off. "If I were to lock him away somewhere... he wouldn't be around to bother us any longer." _

_It was a hard decision, but Grievous agreed on allowing his guards to bring Rahkah in for an audience with him, on the condition that everyone in the room left at once---even his family unit. The empty space was darkened, the alters rekindled and the fires ignited once more. A lone individual remained by his side; the only life form other then him that stayed behind in the room. _

_By appearance, the creature would catch the stares of most as being a servant. The people who thought that were always wrong, though Grievous himself had doubts that she was who she said she was. Asserting that she was a valuable spy for a warlord on the other side of the planet, she had gained a ranking in Grievous's undisclosed faction of undercover negotiators. Not even his elite; his protectors, knew of the clandestine workers that toiled by day as simple people on Kalee, and gathered in remote locations by night in a large group to discuss what tactics their master commanded. The woman was the one who received the plans from Grievous, and delivered them to the meeting place; to her comrades._

_As she stood immobile she didn't notice that the general was watching her out of the corner of his eye---still suspicious of her loyalty. He knew he could strike her down and end her life in a heartbeat, but that action would be superfluous to his public image..._

_The doors, once again, creaked open, slower then the last time, and the all too familiar silhouette appeared. _

_He sauntered in, his thick dreadlocks even longer---almost to his waist. Amid the dense fibers of hair were countless leaves and twigs as a result from many night sleeping on the cold ground. The mask that once covered his strongly featured face was no more, in its place mere blood markings on his skin to simulate the original markings... The disturbing factor was, that Grievous presumed that it was his own blood, not an animal, as the adornment sacredly derived from. His enemy was suffering greatly, and just one time, did he feel pity for him._

"_General Shakar," Rahkah commenced, arcing into a weak, ridiculing bow. "A pleasure to see you again."_

_Grievous grimaced. "I ache to say the same, General Rahkah..." He said sarcastically, trying to keep the snarl out of his voice. His head turned to his emissary, who, in spite of everything, was still as unmoving as a stone. "Leave us..."_

_She nodded and disappeared through a side passageway, snagging Rahkah's attention momentarily. Grievous rolled his eyes, despite his resentment. _Still the same personality... The world has my sympathy...

"_I see," Rahkah said, rather regretfully, "that you have been living well."_

"_Yes." He replied. "Better then you."_

_His adversary frowned even more intensely. "I had hoped... that you would have forgiven me by this point..."_

"_Forgive what you did!? Never! Liar..."_

_Rahkah sighed, pushing the hair that hung over his shoulders behind them. "I thought not. Things never change do they? Look at yourself, you are as bitter as ever! And your children have to see you like this?!"_

"_They know why... They have known for a long time and have grown to appreciate the life they have." _They wouldn't even be alive to this day if things had turned out differently! They had better appreciate life!

"_You---you monster... You speak of existence as if it means nothing!"_

"_It doesn't." Grievous explained sullenly. "Long ago did I begin to hate life... For fourteen years have I kept my hatred in the shadows... I should have killed you when I had the chance and spared myself of all this abhorrence!"_

"_Hate is not an ally... It will consume your soul!"_

"_It---already---has!" He slammed his fist down with enough force to cause himself physical pain. But he did not notice. He didn't care. Pain was a joyous feeling to him, now. "This is your last chance..." He pointed up to the mask above him. "Confess..." _

_Rahkah quivered somewhat when he saw the lifeless eye apertures staring back at him, and for a moment, his mind traveled back to times past. He recalled a happier time; a time when all he had to do was joke around with the masks wearer. Now, looking at the bone cenotaph, he knew that this would be the end of the line for him. He could never own up to his lies strait to the unresponsive object that was once filled with so much spirit..._

"_I---I---I am sorry..." He looked from the wall to Grievous's fury stricken face. "I cannot... I---do not think that it---no one would ever have wanted it this way...Never---"_

"_Silence infidel!" Grievous barked, his voice in it's full military tone. "I hope you rot in whatever prison they throw you in! Guards!"_

_Two guards responded, walking slowly in. "You called...General?" They both droned in perfect unison._

"_Get this man out of my sight..." He dismissed with a wave of his hand. "I do not wish to see him until the day he dies." _

_Rahkah looked once more upon his old friend before the doors shut, full of regret... _

_Grievous slouched back, closing his eyes and massaging his temples with two fingers. Meetings like that annoyed him greatly, and he always awaited the moment when he could simply send his enemies away to any lockup his minions chose. Rahkah had gotten his chance, and had refused. Of course... that had been Grievous's original plan, for he knew that the man would never be able to profess his wrongdoings. _

_"Troubled, sir?" The soft yet ominous voice came from in front of him._

_He opened his eyes to see the spy standing a few meters in front of him. His first assumption is that she had been listening the whole time. But no... his underlings knew better. _

_"Actually...yes..." He focused his eyes on the floor, lost somewhere. "I want that man to die..."_

_She blinked, but wasn't taken aback at all by the violent aspiration. She simply continued on. "Do you have orders for me? I feel useless without them."_

_"Oh..." Grievous chuckled. "You are far from useless. Do not think of yourself in such a belittling manner." He stopped, quiet for an instant, then looking at her and throwing up his arms. "Take the day off! I have no orders. Just... relax. Months of work deserve such a rest, don't you agree?" _

_"I---I suppose...Is there anything else I may do for you before I carry on with my day?"_

_He nodded towards the empty glass sitting on the floor at his feet, reaching down and picking it up. "Tell a servant on the way out to get me another drink..." Flipping it over, he indicated the shortage of liquid. "...I'm out." _


	26. Rahkah's Forfeiture

**Some of you are probably wondering what ever happened to Rahkah. Well, I'm sorry, but I just received word from an anonymous source that he just keeled over and died. One, if you actually believed that, you really should get away from the computer for awhile and get some fresh air. And two, the reason we haven't seen any Rahkah\Yeiro\ anyone else back on Kalee for a few chapters is because I wasn't sure when I should put this up and stuff... And um...this took me awhile because there was just so many little details that I needed to include as well as those "little...**_**emotions**_**..."-nodding jerkily- that I felt this to unquestionably need. Plus, I had finals, so...yeah...**

**Disclaimer: I based a part of this off something out of this book I read. It was to perfect not to use in the instance I did.**

**Chapter 26~Rahkah's Forfeiture**

"You can't do this!" Veliia shouted at him, trying to convince him otherwise.

"Sure I can." Rahkah said back matter-of-factly, not slowing down at all. Rejoining these people hadn't exactly been his choice, after all. They had sort of _found_ him. Well..._Yeiro_ had, like before, and supposedly "convinced" him to continue on and finish what he had to do. _Poor, poor kid...if only you knew the outcome of this trip_...

Veliia, who know exactly what he was getting himself into, had tried for hours to induce him into reconsidering, but he told her that a certain child had made up his mind for him. Rahkah had eventually learned to tune out the woman, who continually yelled at him about how he "couldn't possibly be serious". He was. No one knew how much.

"Do you know what could happen to you!? You _can not_ do this! You are so incredibly stupid if you think that you can somehow undo what you've already done by doing this---"

"Would you shut up already!?" He couldn't take it anymore. "I can't stand your voice anymore, woman!!"

A wickedly mischievous glint appeared in her eyed. "But _Rrrrahkah_!" She whined, drawing out his name in that sickeningly familiar way.

"You talk like that one more time and I swear on my life that I'll---"

"Don't you want to live?" She interjected.

He smirked and shook his head enthusiastically, "No," then grimaced, "shut up before I force you to do so."

Yeiro, who had been watching this ongoing conversation with fascination, wondered if all adults behaved this way towards one another, and shivered at the thought. Their bickering just went on and on! Never stopping... And all they were arguing over was who should be quiet and let the other think. He allowed this to go on a grand total of five more minutes until he snapped. "_Both_ of you shut up!"

They looked back at him, surprised that he had the audacity to speak out like that. "Whoa..." Rahkah commented. "Nice..."

"Idiot!" Veliia hissed. "Do not encourage him! He's too good of a boy to end up in your situation." She grabbed ahold of his arm and ushered Yeiro ahead, leaving Rahkah behind to stare, perplexed.

He frowned and carried on down the well worn game trail, his senses ever alert in the case that there was an attack. He remained this way until, through the trees, he was able to distinguish the worn frame of a building, temple-like in structure. Grasping Yeiro's shoulder, he said in a low voice, "It's not to late to turn back. You don't need to know what's going to happen."

"The answer is still no. I can almost guarantee you that you will need my help by the end..."

_By the end, I won't be around for you to help..._

Sighing, he let Yeiro go, and prepared himself for the worst as he went up to the building's door and waited for someone to answer. When they did, Rahkah recognized the young woman and said in the most friendly manner possible, "Hello! Nice to see you again!"

...and as a result got the door slammed in his face.

"Oh yeah! Real welcoming these people..." He said over his shoulder to the two behind him.

"I wonder why..." Veliia muttered. Rahkah shushed her and pounded on the door again, grabbing Yeiro and throwing him in front of himself in attempt to stress the fact that he had others with him. When someone different finally answered, they gawked at Yeiro...while Yeiro gawked back.

"Do you know these people, kid?" Rahkah demanded, uneasy about the situation.

"Yes---I recognize,"---he pointed up at the individual----"you..."

"Um," Rahkah addressed in his almost-humane tone, "I hope this isn't a bad time."

He was studied a moment, and then in a voice that sounded almost annoyed, they said strait to his face, "I thought you were dead."

"You and a million other people. That's not the point. I asked you a question; and I still hold power over you since I am the last surviving of the seven."

"You mean six." Veliia corrected him.

He looked over his shoulder and threw a "your not helping" look at her. Turning back to the being standing in the doorway, he laughed nervously. "Can we come in? It's important."

Yeiro was ushered inside; Rahkah and the other followed, keeping a close watch on the growing crowd of people that surrounded them. Many commented, most saying just plain offensive things about the previous commander. He hadn't done anything _that_ bad...that anyone knew about. Anyway, why should he be blamed for the sins of another?! That was wrong right there. His eyes searched the faces of the observers, finding many he distinguished, and many young ones he had no memory of. Veliia had stepped aside to talk to someone that Rahkah vaguely recalled to have had ties with an underground group of infiltrators that he used to know of.

_Ah yes..._ He thought with amusement. _That one_...

He couldn't help smirking when she looked over at him, causing her to glare evilly and say something vulgar to herself. Veliia didn't even bother herself with the matter, and merely shook her head shamefully at the prospect, apparently feeling bad that she even knew Rahkah. Laughing inwardly, Rahkah stole off over to Yeiro, suddenly feeling compelled to say something before...

"Yeiro?" He got the kid's attention, which was preoccupied with the sheer size of the building. "I thought I should say something before I go off to attend to what I came for...and...um...You've just been a really great kid to have around and stuff...I only wish more of my kids were like you."

"Uh-huh?" Yeiro replied doubtfully; dismissively. "And how many children do you have again?"

Taken aback---and rather unsure himself---he said, "That...is not important! The _important_ thing is that you need to stay with Veliia under all costs...I'm not sure how this is gonna' turn out and...I guess this is goodbye for now..."

"What? What are you going to do to yourself?"

"What am I gonna'---? Only the gods know what kid...only them." Rahkah sighed, and patted Yeiro on the head graciously, and turned to go on his way. "Goodbye...Yeiro..."

Yeiro could only stare off after him as he entered a dark corridor. Rahkah went on his way with no problems, apart from the occasional stumble he would go through due to the fact that he couldn't see where he was going.

Back in the light, Yeiro continued to stare blankly down that dark hallway until he couldn't take it anymore, he took a step forward to advance down it, but someone grabbed his shoulder and held him back.

"Just where do you think you're going?" Veliia's voice came, firm but slightly on the good-humored side. "You wouldn't want to get lost in a place like this. Never know what you might come upon..."

Yeiro nodded to himself in agreement, and turned to see the individual that Veliia had been addressed by when they had first arrived. Her features were frighteningly catlike, as were those subtle actions that only someone with Yeiro's awareness could detect.

"Yeiro," Veliia said, "this is L'acckay Jeram. She has been a long time friend of mine through these hard times, and has been doing her own form of research on the mental improvement of Rahkah."

"_Mental...improvement_?"

"You told me this child was intelligent." The outsider said, somewhat annoyed with it. She looked at Yeiro with wild eyes, seeming to drill through him and read his thoughts. "Surely you must be blind not to see that your companion needs serious help..."

"I do not know about that, but..." He looked over his shoulder once and blurted out. "He's---"

"_Where _is Rahkah, Yeiro?" Veliia demanded suddenly, not seeing the man anywhere.

"That's what I tried to tell you! He's gone!"

L'acckay exchanged apprehensive looks with Veliia, who seemed more concerned then she ever had been. "He has gone to the underground chambers. Your premonition was correct. Stay here boy. We have to go for him. His life could be in danger."

*-*-*-*-*-*

"So when do I get to leave this place again?" Athela demanded to the medical droid, in a bad mood for the past few days.

"When the General tells us to let you out." It droned, finishing the straightforward tests it was doing and headed out, clanking all the way.

"Oh joy..." She drawled out, sighing. After their last meeting, Athela hadn't even _seen_ Grievous, much less heard anything about him. He had probably forgotten all about her by now. _That's what I thought before, and he helped me..._

She wondered what would happen if she got up. Three months without any movement whatsoever must have helped her leg somewhat. Of course that was highly unlikely...because she knew movement usually helped in such injuries, but it was worth a try. Using her arms mainly for support, she pushed herself up and cautiously got to her feet. Wobbling slightly from the lack of action for a long period of time, she stared towards the closed door and took one step forward...then another, until she felt the great accomplishment of getting somewhere for once. Getting the door open eventually, after many moments of simply pushing random keys until she got what she wanted, Athela looked to see if the coast was clear.

Bizarrely, it was.

_What kind of droids leave their post for no apparent reason...?_

Oh well...they would get what was coming to them in due time. Their cyborg leader wasn't the type who would take their incompetence lightly. And so Athela made her way quickly out of the place and felt a great relief when she reached the familiar desolate hallway. Then again, the empty room probably would have been safer...under the circumstances. But she wasn't letting that get to her. No; she was heading strait for the commander's quarters, to remind him of a few things. Athela would be the first to admit that she was rather frightened to go alone, after what happened last time, with her getting hurt and all.

_Well...I am about to find out... _She thought when she reached the way in. Athela couldn't be sure if Grievous was even in his room, much less in a mood that would be acceptable. Sighing, she entered silently, expecting something violent.

But no.

All she saw was the cloaked outline against the large window, stilled and soundless. Athela kept her eyes on him, hoping that he wouldn't suddenly attack her. None of that as she got closer, and she noted that he was in a very arresting stance, as if in deep absorption to something at the other end of the galaxy. So surprised by his mere serenity was Athela, that she stood there for a long moment, just taking in the complete silence for once. Grievous, of course, unknown to her, had known she was there from the moment she had entered. He deduced, from the obviously irregular footfalls that attested only a small limp, that she was almost fully healed. True, he had forgotten her on a few occasions, but those times were not enough to drive her from his mind, to his great regret.

When he finally spoke, he heard her flinch straight away. "I do not believe I gave you consent to leave...did I?"

Finding her voice, Athela replied, "N-no sir."

In a turn of aggravation, he spun around and stalked towards her, causing her to take a step back with every step he took forward. "Then why, may I ask, did you feel you could simply get up and leave!?"

"It wasn't my fault that you _forgot_ about me for three whole months!"

Grievous stopped, his frustration disappearing. "I did not forget."

"Then why did you never send word!? Just because you're a coward doesn't mean---"

His right hand shot out and grabbed her throat. "You don't talk that way to me! I had my reasons! That means nothing along the lines of those assumptions, do you hear me, woman!?"

"Yeah, I heard you, for about a second...until I went deaf."

The cyborg dismissed her sarcasm for once, and returned to his original position in front of the window. There he stood for another twenty minutes at least, before Athela shook her head and ambled up to stand next to him. "Why do you do this all the time?" She asked offhandedly.

He growled and turned his back to her, looking in a different direction. Athela decided to shut up before something else happened. The last thing she expected him to do was answer her after all that time.

"It is the only consoling thing I know..."

"What?" She snapped out of thought.

"You asked why I stand here day after day and watch the stars." Grievous expounded calmly. "It reduces stress."

"Oh..." Athela stared down at the floor. "I suppose, that I owe you an apology...for the last time we spoke. I never knew that such things made you feel that way..."

"Yes...well..." He cleared his throat. "It is immaterial now. Don't concern yourself over things that are not your business."

She felt herself nod, but the wish to know _why_ plagued her. "I do not want to upset you in any way, but may I know why you have a fear of---"

"No." That ended that then...

Nothing more was said, as both cyborg and mortal stood side by side, staring off into the dark abyss of space.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Rahkah hurried down the tunnels with single-minded determination. Near ready to collapse, maybe even turn back, his anxiety only grew when the hallways began to change. The walls changed to solid rock, and the ground became flat under his feet. Along the rocks appeared various, erratic symbols of all kinds, done in what appeared to be blood. As Rahkah moved further in the direction of the place he knew to still be in existence, these characters appeared more and more frequently, until they came to an abrupt stop.

He froze.

There was the door he needed.

Taking cautious steps, Rahkah centered his gaze on the nearly unreadable writing on it, going over what it could mean time and time again. The strange signs were in the ancient language, and old though it may have been, Rahkah knew it well, as had his forbearers from that time. The significance of those words seemed almost familiar; cyclic for some odd reason. Reaching out, he felt the thin, carved marks, trying to remember where he had heard it said before.

_For all we think to belong to us is not rightful in such times._

_And though there will forever be a pain,_

_It is as real as the emphasis that surrounds it._

_When the world one knows is crushed, life will cease. People will die._

_Silence will haunt the lives of all those who will never understand._

_Grief is ones companion. My companion._

_The desire for vivacity has all but left my life._

_Indolence, dead to one hardened to a destiny of vile misery, will on no account prevail over the surrounding affliction._

_Anyone who kills, is no better then I._

_Anyone who murders, is my blood brother._

_I will take my vengeance, as you would have it...and live in the shadow._

Still not understanding, Rahkah shook his head uncertainly and progressed to getting the thick door open. It took all the strength he had...which wasn't as much as it used to be, but it still got the job done for him.

The room beyond was dark and unventilated, with no visibility. Even so, Rahkah knew this place was colossal---bigger then the highest temple and spanned for an unknown distance underground. Once, he had been here... Once, destiny allowed his life to be shattered. Once. But now he intended to change that. Some would say that his will to negotiate with the gods from this dwelling was futile, but who was there to disagree? Except for Yeiro and that injudicious woman, not a soul cared about him. They all thought he was dead.

Managing to get an object that he had with him burning, he soon found a large receptacle, lighting its contents on fire and stepping back to wait.

One by one, the massive statues began to appear as the light spread down a walkway. Carved from rock, the many soldiers all knelt towards one focal point, one across from the other. All their faces were solemn; their hands weaponless. They each held a torch out in front of them, forming a kind of arc up the middle. Rahkah's eyes followed the fire as it increased, his breathing rapid and a authentically dizzy feeling coming over his whole body. Involuntarily, he threw off the cape on his back, fixed on the stone soldiers. Suddenly, he felt weak; he felt he would lose consciousness, until...

Someone grabbed him from behind and wrenched him backwards. He landed hard with his back on the floor, still faded. From his inconveniently vulnerable position, he saw the face looking down at him, and his body reacted before his mind registered the reason for the situation. He forced his assumed opposer back long enough to get up and growl, "Do not get in my way!"

"Rahkah!" The voice came from the entrance. He spun around just long enough to see Veliia, shock written all over her face. She mouthed something Rahkah didn't understand, when he was struck down by his challenger again. He struggled a moment to regain control mentally, when all became clear.

His mind straightened, so he thought, and he turned his head to see the spy standing over him, wild eyed. That seemed so..._familiar_. He tilted his head, smirking, just before he was kicked in the head. The words he finally said came out in a jumbled, crazed mess. "Come on...kick me again...you know you want to!" But who he thought he saw was not who was there. They stared at him, as though to read his mind and sort him out.

Over again, he was able to stand, still eyeing his aggressor up and down like an animal with its prey.

"No! Rahkah!" Veliia mistook his motionless trance for preparations of violence and stepped between him and her supposed friend. She stopped when she saw his expression. "Rahkah...? What's wrong with you?" Rahkah's eyes snapped to her, and he abruptly backhanded her in the face, the power behind it bringing her to the ground. Like the fighter she was, she was up again before he knew it, and he resorted to one of the two large knives he had with him, and with Veliia unarmed, it was a simple matter of strength over strategy. He caused her to look away for a split second, and gashed open her throat, afterward thrusting her into the wall behind him. Seeing Veliia dying before her eyes, the other made a quick circle around Rahkah in an effort to somehow knock him out from a strong hit to the head.

He wasn't that dense to let that happen, and gouged an aperture in her arm, unpredictably furious. She backed off then, as well, slouching against the same wall Veliia now lay against.

With his contenders disposed of, Rahkah looked down the fire lit way, his narrowed eyes landing on the statue at the very end. Shuddering, he gripped the bloody knife harder as he stumbled down. Upon arriving, he fell to his knees out of both fatigue and the ever growing case of vertigo. On the ground before him, there was a block of stone with the single word "_veneration_" engraved into it. Lifting his gaze to the figure above, Rahkah's head rolled to the side like a corpse, and he reached down for his other knife. Holding the two blades tightly in each hand, crossing his arms. Raising them to his face, he closed his eyes as the sharp edges dug into his skin. Starting at his forehead, he cut downward, along pre-made disfigurements, reopening them and letting the blood pour down his face. The pain was so great that he nearly passed out again, but his tolerance was great, and when he was done, he left the two knives go clattering to the floor.

By this time, Yeiro had caught up with the two who had gone for Rahkah, and approached the doorway at a slow pace, anxious over what he would find. He stood in the threshold for a tense moment, until his eyes landed on the knelt figure at the end of a long pathway. In front of him was shaped an enormous monument; unquestionably one of the gods...female by the looks of it. Yeiro gasped and went to go towards his friend, but someone grabbed his ankle and he whirled around to see who it was. The spy, whose name he did not recall in the tense moment, lay on her stomach, with a pool of blood under her other arm, which was limply placed off to the side.

"No, boy." She coughed. "He...is not himself any longer..."

It was then, that Yeiro saw Veliia's body, twisted against the wall, and he knew that she was dead. His jaw dropped, a small cry escaping his mouth as he went over and dropped down beside her. Her back had been turned, and Yeiro only then saw how she had died. Having to turn to keep the nausea at bay, he clenched his head with both hands. Rahkah had told him not to come. Was this to be his end now as well?!

"Please!" He begged to the living one. "You must help me!"

"You...chose to follow...Now you will face your fate..."

Yeiro shook his head violently. "My fate is not this! Not _death_!"

She only laughed, her face staying unmoving in a wide grin for the moment, and she raised a finger and pointed at Yeiro. "That was what...your mother...said."

"What?" But she didn't answer, dead also. "I don't understand!!"

He looked at Rahkah once more, and ran out of this place of death.

Rahkah, in the interim, had not even noticed Yeiro's presence. Lost between past and present, all he heard were the continuing voices in his head of everyone he had ever wronged to lied to. Their haunting words went to the very depths of his soul, and consumed him, very much like they always did in his dreams. And like his apparitions, he was surmounted by a single voice, coalesced with the others, but at the same time overpowering. The idiolects would not go, no matter how many times he implored. But, suddenly, through his beleaguered mind, while his hands covered his face, a word came to him; of a decade ago.

_Confess..._

Throwing his head back again, he looked the statue right in its jeweled eyes, and said roughly and regretfully, "All right! If that's what you want then fine!" Inhaling and exhaling at the rate that he did after a battle, he swallowed, and yelled as loudly as he could, "I did it!! It was me! I hope you're satisfied! Get out of my mind!"

The voices stopped.

Rahkah released the hold he had on his marred face, and held his hands up in front of him, his brain clearing all at once. _What have I done to myself...? _He wondered, in indescribable pain. Blood dripped to the floor in front of him, and he once more looked up at the stone figure over him. He stared a moment, not knowing why he was here, bowed before such a demonic individual. But then, something strange began to happen...

A tear rolled down his face, along with his own blood.

The light disappeared, as if by some act of the gods, and Rahkah wept.


	27. A Cyborg's Curious Insight

**Hey all! Look who's back in town...Yeah...you better run... And take them nasty youngins with you too!! Nah...kids are amusing. Anywho! I recently changed the ending of this part, due to a stroke of inspiration I had while listening to a song. So, here is the updated version of chapter 27!! **

**Chapter 27~A Cyborg's Insight**

Athela strode into her accommodations, preoccupied on the subject of why these people were dragging her into dealings that her people didn't even care about. Heck, her people weren't even "in on" anything outside of Kalee!

She decided now, that this was a good thing and a bad thing.

If the Kaleesh had been involved in the affairs of the galaxy, expectations would have been released on them as if their homeworld was the Republic's base. However, their obvious ignorance did pose problems as well. For instance, an average Kaleesh couldn't just waltz into an industry on Coruscant and not be expectant that more then a few heads would turn. _This_ she was aware of.

Athela was starting to realize just how remote her race was; and how eccentric their appearance was compared to the rest of the public she'd seen. If she _ever _got back, she would have a few suggestions on how to improve the 'economy'---something she had learned about from her numerous conversations with Count Dooku. General Grievous was also a topic of curiosity. In her opinion, he was a fascinating life form, and she wished she new more about him then the limited information that Dooku and his apprentice had given her.

As her eyes scanned the small room that she had become more then acquainted with over her stay, she sighed. It was still less then welcoming, and as when she had first "migrated" here from the other place, she was _still _sleeping on the floor, which wasn't really the problem. The _problem_ was that everyone she spoke to about it seemed to have a lack of care for her dilemma; being a lifeless droid had its setbacks. And she dared not say anything to the general about it, knowing that she would probably be injured again because of it. She involuntarily touched her ribs, which should have been stable but still hurt terribly.

Sitting down on the floor in the corner where she usually slept, she relaxed. So at peace was she, that when a metallic knock on the door came, she nearly ignored it. If it had not been for the repetitive clanking, she would have too, but it annoyed her so much she answered just to shut the nuisance up.

"What?!" She shouted in the droid's face, in a terribly bad mood. It cringed back, and shoved a wrapped up object at her. "What the heck is this?!"

"A gift...for you."

"From who?"

"I wasn't told."

There was a moment where they just stared at each other, until Athela made the door shut and returned to her spot on the floor, musing over who could have sent _her_ of all people, a gift. _Nobody's that nice anymore..._

Then, she noticed the note attached to the strange black packaging. Confused she flipped the thick piece of paper open and saw, printed perfectly in her own language: _Learning multiple languages is a key element in my position. I learned yours. After this, I can only hope you will blend in with us. You'll thank me later._

Blinking, she ripped off the durable casing, and her eyes grew wide with incredulity. It was a full set of black leather nationalist apparel...if one could even refer to it as that. And it _was_ so, unlike anything she had ever seen before. Sure, she had set eyes on leather before, but not back, and not so conspicuous. Immediately curious as to what it really looked like, she was quick to try it on, and found herself thinking: _so this is what people wear outside our homeworld...? A bit odd... _And it did, indeed, make her seem more...assimilated, in a sense. People would still recognize her for what she really was, but a seemingly more affluent version. In her opinion, she felt like some kind of killer; looked like one too, with a premeditatedly skin-tight upper half that crossed in an 'X' over her torso and was held up by a thick strap that fastened around her neck.

_To blend in...?_ she deemed, admiring the detail. _To whom did I give the impression that I wanted that...?_

Athela deliberated over the potential list of people that possibly could have sent this to her.

She thought of Dooku himself. He appeared a sophisticated human if she ever saw one. Then there was that Rattataki apprentice of his, who principally was the most presumable one---with her customary array and numerous other aspects that made Athela scared that she would some in and kill her in her sleep...

Grievous was out of the question.

Completely.

Entirely.

Fully.

He could care less about appearance as far as Athela could tell. At least he didn't make any attempt to formulate any comments relating to such a subject...fortunately.

Of course, one lacking a corporeal body could not even understand.

She couldn't help but wonder why the liberal contributor had felt the inclination to present her, a lowly native of a planet considered "the backwoods" by all other life, with such a seemingly costly gift. She could never find words to describe how it felt to get something that would most likely by food for hundreds.

Athela left her quarters with several questions in her head; all primarily about the recent measures.

A few times more then she would have liked, she was stopped by droids who questioned her on various accusations they devised from their small, ineffective memory chips, all the while trying to process who exactly she was, and whose side she was on.

And where there were droids, there usually was...

*-*-*-*-*-*

Grievous, in a rarely stress-free frame of mind, had just finished going over some new combat tactics with his bodyguards, and was now heading back to his quarters. And since he was in such an extraordinarily amiable temperament, he didn't even kill it when a droid bothered him with news he couldn't have cared less about. All he did was nod and respond with faint mumbling about one thing or another. In fact, he decided to go talk to Athela...

...and nearly shot himself when his mind finally processed what he was thinking. He never _wanted_ to see that woman; all she did was annoy him. And she was blasted good at it too! Shuddering at what this cruel universe was coming to, Grievous came to a stop, and swung around in another direction, his good mood abruptly ceased, and went unswervingly to the central hanger bay, where he hoped there would be an sufficient distraction awaiting him. And there was.

It was to his own disgust at that moment that he saw the lofty, trim form standing at the end of the hall, waiting for him.

San Hill.

He watched Grievous approach him; his face smug with self-indulgence.

"General." he said, the tone he spoke with appearing even more arrogant then usual, "I trust you are enjoying your new occupation?"

The glare Grievous gave him didn't look as if it moved him in any way, so Grievous just gave the kind of reply he used when threatening those who got in his way.

"Does the cold death you see in my eyes answer your question?"

It was almost insulting how much it didn't sway Hill. He angled his head, placing two fingers under his chin and staring at Grievous for the longest time, "Would you perhaps ever consider rejoining my association and helping rid the universe of economic disaster?"

In answer to this, Grievous spun around and started back to the entrance he came from, not wanting to get into a monetary conversation with Hill.

But did that shake the Chairman off?

Not a chance.

Hill followed him, keeping stride and trying to get a reaction from Grievous's deadpan face.

Grievous, by now, was inwardly seething at Hill. In truth, the only other person he hated more then Hill was Viceroy Nute Gunray...

Hill, other then being part of a business that did nothing but handle money, was a stuck up fool who was only even remotely kind to Grievous because he knew what the cyborg was capable of. In other words, Hill wanted to keep his head attached to his body.

"The Separatist Council is very thankful for your efforts General. And I assure you that there will be a sizable payment coming your way for your continual support and protection. After all, you once played a key role in the survival of my organization---"

"Why are you on my ship, Chairman?" Grievous demanded, knowing that if he didn't put a stop to it now, Hill would probably start babbling away about "the financial tribulations in the galaxy" or some tasteless topic like that.

"Why indeed, General?" Hill seemed to agree, "You know it's a rather humorous story. I was in my transport, coming back from a brief diplomatic appointment from my home world and I saw your ship way out in the distance. So I said to myself "That's General Grievous's command ship. I wander how my old colleague is doing? I think I'll pay him a much needed visit and see how life is treating him," And here I am."

"Chairman...do me a favor."

"Yes, General?"

"Go away, and throw yourself into a black hole."

Grievous left Hill speechless for once in his life, mentally giving himself a slap on the back for a much needed diversion. Then, the moment of fleeting, sadistic enjoyment had passed, and he went back to his expected mind-set, dismembering a few droids to make clear his point. Continuing on his original route to his quarters, which, ironically was on the opposite end of the ship, compared to where he had just now came. Concentrated mainly on the floor as he walked, he heard the voices before he saw who was there.

"How many times do I have to tell you?! I'm allowed to be on this ship!! I don't want to be but I am! Get it through your thick metallic skull!!"

That of course, was Athela's voice. Who else would be so sarcastic to one---or ones---who didn't even have the capacity to understand? He shrugged and went to see what the problem was. looking around a corner, he saw a dozen or so droids surrounding her, repeatedly saying the same phrase: "Intruder. Who are you and what is your business?"

"_Dismembering _you if you don't get off my case!!" She shouted in response. "Go away and bug someone else!"

Instantaneously, one of the droids saw Grievous standing there, watching silently, and said the only two little words its memory chip could provide it with, "Oh no..."

Soon, all of the machines were in pieces on the floor. Admiring his handiwork, the general nodded in approval, and slowly turned to face Athela, who glared at him as if to say, '_They were mine to kill_...'

Grievous stared back, but not for the same reasons. The incentive was this: she was different in appearance. A _lot_ different. Without a single word, he eyed her up and down, his head cocked inquisitively and his gaze soliciting an answer.

"I..." He cleared his throat. "I assume there must be some means to this..._madness_?"

She did not answer, but lowered her head downward, as not to have to look him in the eyes. Meanwhile, the cyborg was waiting for a reaction from her. Something; anything that would give him a clue about her purpose. He couldn't help himself---it was all too eccentric, and nothing would come to his bemused head, so all he could do was stare. Apparently, Athela found it very disturbing; a commander who usually had everything in the world to bark at his subordinates, at a loss in the very presence of one he had a particular verbal antagonism for. She looked at him again once, and backed away slowly.

Grievous, still trying to fathom how to handle this unforeseen situation, then saw something that interested him greatly. Knowing from the start that it was most likely true, he knew now. Everyone who ever owned one of the pendants, like she did, was obligated to have a permanent marking of that medallion's particular design somewhere on their person. In her case, the strange, symmetrical shape was burned into the skin of the higher part of her right leg; usually hidden by her normal apparel.

"Wait." He said simply, heightening up. She stopped, but didn't acknowledge him. "The..._mark_ you have...on your leg..."

While he tried to find words to explain himself, Athela turned around and looked him strait in the eyes, her expression acerbic. She nodded slowly, as if in realization of some unidentified point, but knowing her, that unknown point was about to become...well, known. The rejoinder she devised was, indeed, mordant, just like her personality, but the actual message behind it actually confounded Grievous in many ways.

She smirked insincerely, almost grimly, as she said it. "Why were you looking there?"

It shouldn't have made him so bewildered, but it did. Why would she even _think_ of something; _anything_ along those lines? She must have thought him some psychologically distorted thing to notice the mark in the particular place that it was---but if he had been so tainted, or audacious, he might have...

Much to his own knowledge, his eyes widened considerably, and he cut that thought short.

_One never knows whose listening_...He reminded himself. Gallingly, he also admit that he was overly indulged in the situation, and slackened his stiff posture to enforce his new refutation. "I...was not." Grievous replied, ripping his eyes away from her to stare somewhere at the wall. "It was just an observation I made as you turned." And for that, he mentally slapped himself. "Do not take it that wrong way!" He quickly tried to save himself. Athela smiled coyly then, as if amused by his uncharacteristic prattle.

"Oh don't worry..." She said smoothly. "You don't have to tell _me_ stories. Just continue lying to yourself and everything should remain alright 'upstairs'."

Grievous strove to change the subject once more. "So, what about the mark? Tell me how you got it."

"Well let's see...there was this guy with a branding iron thing...and it hurt beyond the point of tolerance. But, I didn't exactly do it voluntarily." She stopped and looked the cyborg strait in the eyes before she continued. "I once knew a man; the one who gave me the pendant you some time ago took, then gave back to me. He was a strong believer in the "mark", and encouraged me to get one."

"The sign of the medallion wearer, am I right?"

Athela nodded hesitantly. "You know about that. I'm impressed." Her intonation drew out the last word, making it sound like the purring of some animal. "How?"

"Research."

"I see...But, yes, that's basically how I obtained the strange mark, then. Any _other_ questions relating to me?"

It was an iffy one, but Grievous just went with it. "In fact...do you have any other...ahem..._marks_?"

Another smirk pulled at her mouth, and for only a minute did Grievous wonder if she truly considered his query legit. She said nothing though, and in response walked silently on her way down the hall, leaving one very lost commander behind her.

*-*-*-*-*-*

**Hehe...humorously awkward scenes are so amusing to write!!**


	28. Simply Chaotic

As promised, here is the address to my website. It took me awhile, cuz I was at this thing focused on the subject, so I got more time to work on it. Anyway, here it be! 

**http: .com /site/nyhratakswebsite/Home**

**I don't have much to say, except that the "flashback" is from one of my other stories, which focuses on Rahkah's downfall, AND which I probably won't be putting up, contrary to previous statements... You'll notice I don't use many names except for Rahkah, mostly because I'm not that skilled at coming up with names & I felt it...**_**necessary**_** for now. So... **

_**Yousa enjoy this now okeetay?**_

**Chapter 28~Simply Chaotic**

Rahkah ventured a glance behind him as he stumbled out of that accursed room in a daze, a dead body in each arm. He had to do something. But what? To _claim_ one of them had attacked him and made perfectly proportioned slices down his face would be suicidal, and if he was questioned on his business in such matters... The unexpected grief welled up in his chest, and he regretted ever coming here. But, somehow, through it all, he felt better, like the weight of the world had been taken off his shoulders.

That soon changed when he stepped out into the main entrance space, and everyone gaped in sheer terror. Rahkah breathed heavily, and with his legs shaking under the weight, he bent down and laid the two corpses on the floor, rising to his full opposing height subsequently. With exhausted, miserable eyes, he looked at everyone, apologetic, and said in a voice of a dying man, "This day is to be forgotten..."

He shoved through the onlookers, leaving the concerned individuals to deal with the deceased. He didn't look back, heading tactlessly through the deep forest with his injuries causing pain to the extent of all but unconsciousness. In the back of his mind, _everything_ was clear to him now; why all of this had been happening. Something had happened to him, before he had come to his senses back there. So many things ran through his head like electricity, sparking memories he never even knew he had, and above it all---there was that ever familiar voice that he refused to acknowledge. But that particular time, it was joined by his own, in the one memory that he wished that he could put away forever; the one that started everything; that very nearly cost him his life at the hands of that madman.

And for the first time in over twenty years, he allowed himself to revisit that reminiscence.

*-*-*-*-*-*

_"What was that about?" Rahkah's charge demanded. "You know how much trouble you cause when you say whatever comes to you! You should have just kept your mouth shut!"_

_Rahkah sighed, deeply aggravated. "My young friend...I meant no offense, but it is _I_ who should be asking _you_ what everything was about." He replied shrewdly._

_"I---do not understand what you speak of."_

_"Sure you don't...Look, kid, I've known you since you were just a little thing. I found you, helped you find your calling, and the least you could do is help your old friend out a little bit now that your what? Twenty something?"_

_"Twenty four."_

_"Yeah, whatever. All I wanna know..." But his charge figured it out before he could say it._

_"I know." Rahkah scowled, and gave a quick sarcastic expression. "It is obvious...knowing you as I do...Well, I hate to break it to you, though I must admit I enjoy tormenting you, no one intends to let you get your way this time..." _

_"I wasn't aware that someone put you in authority over me, _kid_."_

_"It is not my fault that you can not kill your bad habits."_

_"That's not true! I've been trying...sort of..."_

_"And yet I still hear talk." The kid said, crossing his arms. "So...How many times have your efforts to contain yourself failed this week alone?"_

_Rahkah considered telling him, but caught himself. "That...is none of your business. And as a mentor to you, I couldn't bear revealing such information."_

_"Mentor my---"_

_"Don't start with me!" Rahkah stopped himself mid sentence. He sounded like a father again. A father to this pitiful wretch they called "great". He didn't find anything great about him...except of course being a great annoyance; but Rahkah was not jealous, as it sounded from that little voice in his head. He was just tired of the kid. "I mean...Just go away and don't bother worrying over affairs that are not your own...unless of course you've already---"_

_"Do you want a round in the head? Cause I can arrange that very easily..." Oh! So now that kid thought he could show insolence could he?!_

_"Get out!"_

_But he was already gone. _

_Alone at last, Rahkah let his head fall back catatonically, inertly reaching out for a bottle on a table beside him. He went to take a drink, but finding that whatever was originally in there was gone, he tossed it to the ground to join the countless other bottles that were scattered all around. Then he thought that losing himself wouldn't be proper in the particular situation he was in, and decided not to bother getting another for himself. As an alternative, he went outside and looked around with narrowed, tired eyes. The fighters around him stopped to stare at him with envious expressions, for they knew, that no matter how hard they trained; how hard they pushed themselves, they would never have the looks and strength of General Rahkah. He flashed a half- smirk before going his way. _(*Note: Insert the last verse of _Bad to the Bone _in here somewhere*)

_As usual, he got a lot of looks on his way through the base camp, both of admiration _and_ disapproval. Some found his arrogance disturbing, and many others simply drooled over it. It was not so with his fellow commander, Dau-Maz, who neither liked nor hated him. It was said that many years ago, when Dau-Maz was younger, he saw that the lack of order among Kalee's armies, dating back to bleak ages full of conquest and demise, and therefore took a stand to change that for the better. Others joined him in his pursuit of regulation, abiding by the strict laws of their ancestors as they rose to victory. Dau-Maz had been a father figure to Rahkah after he had encountered him alone and confused as an adolescent. The thirty-two-year-old was now a completely tainted personage, with his fair share of familiarities and lifestyle. What went wrong with that once perfectly innocent child was beyond anyone's mental capacity... _

"_I didn't see you earlier today at the meeting. Why?" Dau-Maz demanded roughly._

"_I had other..._priorities_..."_

"_Oh? And did these so-called "priorities" involve any of your female friends?"_

_"Of course not! Don't be so ridiculous..."_

_The commander smiled disagreeably, "You are lying."_

_"I'm gettin' the impression that someone didn't get enough rest last night...Honestly, Dau-Maz! I would have thought you of all people appreciated---"_

_"Stop delaying your judgment! Do you realize how many times this has happened? Do you?!"_

"_I haven't a clue as to what you are talking about. My absence was due to an untimely attack as I was speaking with the head soldier of my contingents a ways away from this location. Your assumption is neither true or accurate. I thought I had made it clear that I changed."_

"_Scandalous talk does have a way of reaching my ears. After all...I am...the head man of this cause."_

_Rahkah pretended to look overly bored with the conversation and yawned blatantly. "Have I ever told you how much you remind me of this guy I used to know...?"_

_Dau-Maz just stood there gaping, amazed at the irrelevance of the comment. He cleared his throat. "Which brings me to the second reason I needed to speak with you. Where is your charge now?"_

"_How the heck should I know? What am I!? His _servant_?!" Rahkah stressed his point well, and the man who stood before him took a step backward. _

_Dau-Maz, however, was still unrelenting. "As much as I _hate_ saying this...You'll have to find him before I can allow you to involve yourself in anything."_

_Rahkah chuckled. "Nice, Dau-Maz...You always find a way to make me laugh somehow..."_

"_You're sick."_

"_Don't I know it..." And he left. Rahkah went on to forget all about his "charge"; the kid, and didn't pay him further thought._

Later that same day...

_Rahkah found himself heading off into the woods surrounding the encampment, drawn there by some unknown force. All alone, at peace with himself, he could forget all of the troubles that seemed to congregate to him on a daily basis. These rare times that he was able to escape, he wouldn't focus on anything but the moment, and that was saying a lot. He was a very committed man, both in war _and_ life. _

_Soon, he came upon his destination; the place he came whenever he got a chance to do so: a large source of water. The armies used this place often, and with good reason. The water was clear and reflective, with falls and gorgeous landscape encircling it. Sinking to the ground at the edge of it, he lazily drew circles in the dirt, taking in the silence. Getting a handful of water, he bent down and splashed it over his face. For some odd reason, a feeling suddenly came over him of being watched; of someone's eyes on him. Naturally he would have thought 'no surprise there', but there was a nameless sense that set him on edge. Quickly standing, his eyes stayed locked on the water before him._

_Was it his imagination then, that he heard a snicker behind him? When he turned, there was no one, which bothered him all the more. He heard footsteps in the undergrowth all around him. His head followed suit, his eyes searching for the source. When he saw nothing, he pulled himself together, and moved as quietly as possible up to the point where he assumed whoever they were watched him from. Expecting to hear something run off into the trees, some animal or something, he waited for it...but there was no sound whatsoever save for the waterfall in the distance. And animals didn't _snicker_, so that ruled that possibility out almost completely. Taking a deep breath, he went the last step near the thick foliage, and braced himself for the worst. Then he thought to himself: _this isn't me...Why am I bothered so much by this..._? Perhaps it was the gut feeling that told him something about this that got to him. But it shouldn't have! He wasn't _supposed_ to be _afraid_ of _anything_! So that was that then. _

_Tentatively, at the least, he reached out to part the plant life..._

_...but he never got to see what was behind them._

_Just like that, Rahkah was on his back in the dirt, wondering what just happened. Heaving for air from getting his breath driven from him, he laid a hand on his forehead, quivering slightly from impact with the ground. He still couldn't see his attacker, but he assumed they had to be wickedly strong to be able to push _him_ around. Maybe if he was able to convince this individual to join the cause, he could gain a rank or two...and get more attention of course. That would be---_

_His assailant stepped on his chest to hold him down, and he opened his eyes, trying to see. He couldn't see more then a silhouette, which was enough to tell him that his assumption about this person's appearance was misguided. They looked thin; definitely not someone who would be using retaliatory acts against someone like him. _

_Finding his voice, he said in a reassuring voice, "No need to be aggressive! I'm on your side!"_

_"That is what all fools say to avoid their demise..."_

_And it was then, that two things registered in Rahkah's head. First, that the odds weren't in his favor if he didn't talk his way out of this. And secondly, unlike he originally thought, that this was no man._

_"Well...this fool just became a lot more secure...You mind letting a guy stand so---"_

_He was cut off as a sharp blade was thrust into the ground, inches from his head. Looking at it out of the corner of his eye, he smiled nervously again._

_"Look!" He tried. "I'm not good with first impressions I know! It's not my fault!"_

_An exhale of aversion was all she gave, and as she moved away from him, he heard the clear words: "you are pathetic" mumbled. _

_"Why thank you!" Rahkah answered, getting up, his hands still on his head. "Are you always so friendly?"_

_When his question was ignored, he sighed, kicked a rock, and turned to go on his way, knowing that any attempts were useless. Halfway down the path back to the base camp, the statement behind him made him pull to a stop._

_"I remember you."_

_He looked at her over his shoulder, "What?" _

_"I remember you." She repeated, studying him. "You were the one in the corner; the one who spoke out of turn."_

_Recalling it, he recognized her almost instantly. "Oh! Yeah...um. I mean, yes, I, uh, believe I was the one who did...who did that."_

_"You are a commander as well, no?"_

_Turning himself fully around, he nodded, getting the first good look at her. She was slim, yet able-bodied, more so then any female combatants he had ever seen. This one would catch some eyes, that was certain... "Yes...Names' Rahkah. _General_ N'jaere viir Rahkah." _

"_Rahkah." She said after him, the foreign inflection in her voice prolonging his name. "I have heard your name before."_

"_Well." Rahkah cleared his throat, trying to sound like he thought it was mentioned in some miraculously good way---not that it could ever possibly have been---when it was said. "News of my great accomplishments travels fast."_

_The faint alteration in her posture foretold the response. "That was not exactly what I was told, General..." _

_"I see." He trailed off, looking somewhere off to the right thoughtfully. "I realize that I might not have been given the best reputation from, ahem, _certain individuals_, but if it's _that_ you're worried about, I don't make a habit of being like that with people who I just met."_

_"Why would I be worried about someone I can overpower?" She replied, crossing her arms._

_Looking away again, Rahkah struggled to hide his embarrassment. "I...um..." No words would come that could possibly save him. Assuming that this stranger was not one to say anything consoling, he was completely stunned when she touched his arm supportively._

_"Do not worry. I will not tell a soul." _

_"Thanks...I guess..."_

_There was a long pause, with no words exchanged, until Rahkah cleared his throat again and said, "I anticipate seeing you in the area in the future then?"_

_A diminutive smirk was her reaction, and she back away from him, starting to head back to the original location she had been. "_If _you ever see me..."_

_And so it was that everything was started by that seemingly ingenuous confrontation._

_*-*-*-*-*-*_

"You mean to tell me I won't be killing anything?!" Grievous all but screeched. "My first real campaign since the tragedy and I can't even _hurt_ them!?"

"Now, now, General, I am certain that you are not conscious of this thus far, but the citizens on this world are on _our _side...and they have far to great of numbers and technology to be turned against us now."

Grievous's body twitched infuriatingly, his eyes narrowed at Count Dooku's hologram to try and drive the conceited tone from his voice.

"And I assure you General, you will be far to busy commanding the battle droids to worry about, hah, _killing _anything...or any of the locals."

"Will there be Jedi?"

"To that I have no doubt. I trust you will deal with them in the usual manner?"

"Clearly. They will not depart this life without a fight---that is all they deserve..." Grievous said, thinking, _They get what I never did..._

"I spoke to that girl you insist on keeping on board yesterday," Dooku changed the topic. "A very strange child..."

"_What_?"

"Yes, but I must say---she is rather outspoken...you must break her of that sooner or later."

"You can insult me, but when you insult my race, you have gone too far!" He snarled, agreeing with Dooku fully but not letting on. "I didn't _die _just so you could go attacking the dignity of my humble people!"

"_Humble_?" Dooku repeated. "Miss Erihdiy seems so---"

"Forthright, yes. But at least she is _loyal---_"

"A bit protective of the girl are we?"

"Perhaps!" Grievous snapped back.

"Well, either way, you must admit, your world _was_ backwater; not involved with Galactic affairs in any method. Your world wasn't even part of the Republic."

"Have I not made this clear one too many times!? _We---were---in---poverty_! We had no time to go appealing to the Republic about the cursed government when we were all going through---"

"Please, General, you mustn't carry on so," Dooku attempted to mollify him. "I was privy to that position long ago, before we even needed you even."

"Then that would be your problem then wouldn't it!?"

"And to think this whole inane conversation started over the fact that you're not to harm anyone...I knew you felt strongly for destruction, but I never knew how much..."

"You will most definitely know how much when the Jedi breathe their last."

"So sure? Do not underestimate them."

"Ahhh, I know, but I decided that they are not worth my fear." Grievous stated smugly. "I feel that since their order will crash and burn as it is, that the only respect I pay them is a good death."

"Very well, General. You may have that liberty, but I expect the same approach as on Geonosis. As for the other worlds in need of convincing, I will have my apprentice take care of them with far more..." There was a slow, deliberate pause. "_Humane _techniques."

Grievous listened as the count continued.

"And, I regret mentioning this to you, but I know my Master would be most unpleased if I failed to do this ahead of time. I have assigned my apprentice to assist you, for I know that missions like this are risky, and you might require help with _convincing talk_...knowing you."

"You can not send _her_ there too! Surely you realize that it would be ineffective!"

Dooku seemed a tad bit surprised with Grievous's panic, not being accustomed to such outbreaks. Nonetheless, he ignored the cyborg, and reminded Grievous, "I will say it once more, General. _Do not _cause detriment among the native species. Any other damage is _inadmissible _unless the Republic's troops reject your propitiation. Must I remind you what will come to pass should you fail to do this?"

"Yes." He knew _very_ well what would happen.

But Dooku told him again anyway. "Your services will not be needed anymore, and I'm afraid that we will have to _dispose _of you." The cold smile on his superior's face told Grievous that the count wanted nothing more then to make that a reality.

"Your mockery will end once I handle this in _my_ way...with or without the help of your novice."

_*-*-*-*-*-*_

They had ordered Athela to follow them¾those two bodyguard droids of Grievous's. She was prepared to be yelled at for something as she walked through the open doors to the general's quarters.

Grievous stood in his usual spot by the window, in his habitual carriage.

"Sir?" She articulated from her position at the railing.

He turned, his version of grace evident.

"I am not one to delay, so I will get right to the point." He said, clasping his hands behind his back. "I will be departing for a time to see to some..._enemy sightings_ on a world whose name I will not disclose to someone so lacking in military data."

"So your point is...?"

"If you were any more dense you would be dead..."

"Well sorrrrry!" she slapped a hand over her mouth, remembering what Count Dooku had told her. "I mean---I don't know how things are run around here... please explain..."

Grievous gave her a kind of "raised eyebrows" look, quite strange for one lacking most of his face.

"The business of war; Jedi reside on the world I have been assigned to. I have orders to assure that..." He took a breath. "They are _dealt _with. I will be going alone to rendezvous with Commander Asajj Ventress. I have no need of your... _services_ while I am there."

"So... you're saying I have to stay here?"

"Very good!" He sneered with obvious sarcasm. "Yes. Do you honestly think I would take _you _of all people along?"

"Well---"

"I think not! A woman would only slow me down!"

Athela silently was in agreement, but deep down she knew that the _real _reason had to be something concerning humiliation.

He was a general! The Supreme Commander of the Droid Armies! And he most likely didn't want to be seen with a woman following him around! Now she understood what murder that could do to his reputation...

"I understand, sir." She replied. "I once knew a man who was the same way..."

"Well good for him then!" Grievous, just the once, praised. "More life forms should follow his example. If it were up to me," he stopped and turned back to the window. "All females would be prohibited from the matters of warfare."

"Even Jedi?"

He growled, as if the word hurt him.

"What side are you on?" He snapped.

"I'm not---" she was cut off again.

"Your world is on _my _side; hence, _you---_are on _my _side."

Athela had to roll her eyes at that little proclamation. "Someones' optimistic..."

"I am not optimistic, I am sure." Grievous said back, quite calmly and confidently. He spun around and started up a flight of stairs. "Think about it," he began for a second time. "Why do you think the Separatists are so lucrative to this day, hm?"

She shrugged and crossed her arms, knowing that she should probably keep her mouth shut while he explained.

"Because, of my work, idiot! They are at the top because of _me_!" He supported himself on the side barrier. "As for the Jedi," a shudder seemed to go through him. "They are not to be trusted. Their order is a corrupted one, with nothing to give but injustice. You should know," he tilted his head in her direction. "They devastated your world. They were the cause of the abject poverty on Kalee..."

"They did what they had to," Athela defended hesitantly. "It wasn't our fault that they came, it was our rival's..."

"The Yam'rii?" Grievous scoffed. "Of course it was their fault! It is always the other species fault!"

"Yes... you know of them?" Athela replied, quite surprised about it.

"I make it a point to know broad-spectrum statistics about the unfamiliar races so I can easily convince them to join us when the time comes." He countered matter-of-factly. "Yours being one of them. But they are already "with us" in a manner of speaking."

"Oh, so you mean to tell me that you knew what race I was from when you first saw me?"

"Essentially, yes I did."

Athela scratched her head. "You said your leaving for some foreign planet, you do not know how long, and you're not taking me with you. How _else_ does that concern me, sir?"

"I wanted to assure that you make frequent visits to this particular room to confirm its continued attainability while I am gone. I have no doubts that you will report any malfunctions in the security hardware and supplementary technology; will you not?"

Athela felt her mouth drop open, she knew nothing of the technology of which he spoke. "I---I'm sorry sir, but I have no comprehension on industrial ware...As you probably know, I come from a simple planet."

Grievous must have thought it was amusing, because he took a moment to express his deep, flat cackle. It was in that moment, that Athela figured out why he was actually displaying his usually covert laughter. He had intended the question as witticism, though not insinuating that when he said it. It was rather hopeless really; for one like him to attempt at humor but fail miserably. On the other hand, his idea of absurdity was horrific events that odds-on clouded his dreams. So, in a way, it was actually quite strange...

As quickly as his brief state of commonness had come, it left, leaving him back in his routine disposition. "You will still check on my quarters for me. I will have a droid see to the rest."

"Thank you sir."

He must have been keeping note of the time, for the reason that he before long said. "It should be only a day or two...perhaps a week at _best_."

He walked briskly past Athela towards the way out. "Do not make a fool out of me while I am gone." He ordered without looking back.

The doors shut suddenly, and Athela was deserted in the large room.

Grievous wasn't one to hinder his own time, therefore giving the explanation concerning his abrupt leaving without a valediction.

Well...at least she didn't have to agonize about whether someone would murder her in her sleep if she ticked them off...except for maybe Dooku, should he have even been there...But even though it was only seconds after the general had taken his leave, she already felt a bit safer...

Or did she?

*-*-*-*-*-*

**Okay! Let me explain about the little thing about the song. Sorry about that, it was random I know, but in my opinion, **_**Bad to the Bone**_** has always been "his song", cause it makes perfect sense...Kay? Kay. **


	29. Within the Barriers of Professionalism

_**Ugg...Sorry for the wait...Alota things happened in July, like: I was in Kentucky working for people who needed help with other peeps my age, and it kept me away from writing. Plus, I had a significant lack of inspiration...Thus the short chapter...**_

_**............................................**_

_**Oh my good golly gosh! I haven't expressed my gratitude for your feedback in quite a while...Thank you all for your positive and encouraging reviews! I would respond to all of them personally, but I can never find the time to do so. Anyway, thanks! Keep 'em comin'!**_

_**Chapter 29~Within the Barriers of Professionalism**_

_General Grievous knew it was going to be a long day as soon as he disembarked from his transport with two of his bodyguards behind him. For one thing, he didn't like the looks of the natives even upon the first glance, with their short stature and large black eyes. They parted for him, gangly arms writhing in anxiety. Grievous swung around to one in pure vehemence when he heard it refer to him as 'Devil Eyes_', glowering at it furiously.

"_What_ did you call me?" He demanded. The little creature shrank back and stumbled to retain balance. Grievous stopped short of strangling it when the faint, metallic tone of the bodyguard on his right notified him of something. He snapped back up, attentive to the piece of information. Turning his head ever so slightly, he became all the more unhappy.

Asajj Ventress stood there, arms crossed with impatience, with a few of the locals hiding behind her. She raised an eyebrow and shook her head. "You _are_ antisocial..."

"Do you really expect me to tolerate being insulted by one I do not even know?!"

"Yes...Devil Eyes." Ventress countered with an obnoxious smile.

Grievous stalked past her towards the impermanent accumulation of technology, where countless battle droids worked to get everything operating satisfactorily.

"Yes, go to your own kind! You fit in much better with the droids!"

He stopped dead. Jolting once, he spun himself around, stabbed a finger in her direction, and hissed: "You know I would very much like to kill you now...You also know I have my orders...But I am sure that I could modify them should I be pressed to do so. If I were you...I would not allow sleep to imprison me this night..."

With her cold gaze lowered, Grievous couldn't tell what she was thinking, but was sure it was somewhere between dread and a fight to the death. "Nothing to say? Excellent."

And with a little jerk of his head, he and his bodyguards moved on.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Regardless of earlier orders to prevent her from obtaining them, Athela managed to reclaim all of the weapons she originally had on her person when she had first come aboard Grievous's ship. It would have been impossible to acquire such a vast collection of styles on her own, of which included mostly commissioned models, which was why she was thankful she had taken on her father's occupation as a weapon crafter. If only she had known who he was; had been...

The poor man had been murdered when she had barely been able to walk, along with her mother and nearly all her brothers and sisters. How she had lived was unfathomable to most, but she knew all too well it had been the survival skills of her only other living sibling, who was well older than she and knew what they were doing. But since she had heard that _starvation_ had claimed that only other relative's life, a year or so before coming onto this death trap, she knew that there would be no one to help her this time.

Along with this notion, she knew she would never complete her original task, and proving all those people wrong who told her there was no chance that she would succeed. Sighing in a disheartened manner, she wondered if she would _ever_ see her homeworld again. She missed it, along with her son, who had been practically the only one who had given her any encouragement on the matter of her leaving to find..._whatever_ she was trying to find.

If there was any chance...

*-*-*-*-*-*

Night came, and to the surprise of many, the demon eyed foreigner accepted a more private place to unwind. Grievous, however, proved these assumptions false when he unemotionally drove away those few who were brave enough to be his "escorts". Frustrated with these creatures already, he stepped inside the house-like building and looked around. The place was tastefully furnished with everything that a normal mortal needed to be satisfied...and _no_ droids. Just once, Grievous didn't have to worry about droids. He had cut all communications, so he was virtually alone, except for the two guard droids at the entrance, but they were quiet enough.

But of course, nothing stayed so good for him often, and then was no exception.

There was a furious knocking on the door.

"What?!" He grated out.

"Tell your guards to let me go!" The familiar voice screeched.

"No, I think that I will just let them tear you apart and save me the trouble."

"I have information that will please you! For once I'm attempting to put you in a good mood and you want to kill me?!"

"Nothing that you say will put me in higher spirits than if you say you are leaving."

"_General_!"

_She sounds like a child..._ "Very well..." He cleared the distance between where he was standing and where the door was in a few steps, and opened it. Ventress fell in to her knees and glared up at him.

"Thanks for being so cooperative directly." She sneered, rubbing the place on her arm that the droids had grasped. Grievous looked down on her like he did just before he killed someone, and didn't move. Not having room to stand, she snapped at him, "Move!"

He wasn't going to, but he wanted her to leave as quickly as possible. Wordlessly, he took one pace backward. "Now then, what was _so important_ that you had to go and disrupt the peace?"

"We received a message just moments ago from the other side of this planet. Two Jedi by the names of Ural Namashi and Volcom Micao claim that they know of your existence."

"How is that possible? They were not given the opportunity to

"The message did not specify that. But say that if you accept their request that they will not reveal it to their Council."

"_Blackmail_? What makes them think something so infantile will cause me to acquiesce?"

"They said that you would say that..." Ventress looked at him strangely, and went on. "They say that they are on this planet for the same reasons we are, and have an offer for us."

"_Us _meaning _me_."

"Well...yes..." She cleared her throat. "You both want the allegiance of the native species, and in order to determine that, Master Namashi's proposition was that, since he somehow knows of your expertise in one on one battling, that you formally battle him. Simply, the winner leaves with the planet's support...and their life."

Grievous, for an instance, contemplated the offer. On one hand, being known by all wasn't so bad. And on the other, he did love a fight. But what if he should lose? He would fail and die. Not exactly what he had in mind for the rest of his life... Of course, if he refused, they would think him a coward, and he would never hear the end of it from the commander. Unresolved, he nodded hesitantly, and said at last, "I do not like being made a fool by my enemies...Tomorrow..." His voice grew more confident then. "...will be their last. _Both _of them."

*-*-*-*-*-*

**I dunno...This whole chapter seems rather shallow...Maybe it's just me...**

**Note: I don't know when the next update will be. But, I'm **_**not**_** giving up on this!**


	30. Insufficient Effort

_Hello illustrious fan-fictioners! It took me hours to write the first paragraph, so you would imagine the time-consuming process of writing everything else. So, in this chapt we see Grievous poning Jedi newbs, a discomfited first encounter between Dooku and Athela since her drastic change in appearance, and a rather random scene with some clone trooper people...purely because they're cool like that. Along with that, more Grievous and Ventress bickering to amuse you! What more could ya want? Wait...I don't wanna know. ;) Also note, Grievous's age is mentioned later in this, and since I couldn't find anything official on it, it was an educated guess after estimating the times of all the important points in his life and...I'll shutteth up. _

_As always: R&R _

_(I just recently got smart and allowed anonymous reviews, so if your anything like I was a year ago, devoid of an account, you'll appreciate this...)_

_Chapter 30_

_**Grievous had never been a big fan of waiting, and it was because of this that he found the delay of the Jedi insufferable when the time of their confrontation came around. Prior to the present time, back at the center of operations, he had spoken to Dooku about his stratagem, and the count had seemed, in the least, irritated by it. Of course, it would have been unlike Dooku to feel any other way, so Grievous didn't give it a second thought.**_

_**The general stared out over the wide river that the natives claimed separated the planet thousands of years ago. His cold eyes stayed locked on the horizon for any sign of life. When the minutes turned to hours, the manipulative brain in his skull started to think that this was some sort of trick. For just an instant, he took into account that the utterly senseless droids wouldn't be prepared for such an attack if this was**_** just a way to get him out of the camp. Then again...better for him if they were all wiped out, with hopefully Ventress with them. Even if this were true, he knew when to hold his position, with or without an army behind him. But even **_**he**_** would admit that it was taking too long for the Jedi to show up. Surely they weren't **_**that**_** ill-bred to ignore their own word. That was the level of a person like himself, although he did begin to really think about his own mental statement when the ever so proverbial reminder of Athela's situation came to him. Maybe it wasn't true...**

"**The view here is quite calming isn't it?" A simple comment came from beside him. His head shot towards it; how could he have been so dense!?**

**Immediately in a sadistic mindset, Grievous took a lightsaber in each hand and prepared to destroy the one who spoke. Subsequently he saw that there were two of them, both wearing the brown robes that he had seen so many adorned in at the battle of Geonosis. The older looking one, presumably the one who had sent the message in the first place, looked about as peaceful as the dead, but the younger one gazed at the cyborg with wonder---the last thing he would have ever thought he would get from a Jedi.**

"**Someone like yourself must appreciate respite from time to time don't you, General?"**

"**Silence you insolent filth! Do not ever talk to **_**me**_** like that!"**

"**Well, I can see already that you are a joy to have around." The voice seemed diplomatic, with what Grievous recognized as a Coruscanti accent to it. **

**The younger man beside his elder cocked his head to the side and remarked, "He does have a very sad air about him, doesn't he, Ural?"**

"**Please..." The Jedi said, "Do not complicate matters. Though I must agree with you."**

"**That, is, **_**enough**_**!" Grievous rasped, clenching the weapons in his hands tightly. "You came here to fight! And you **_**will**_**." **

**Ural Namashi frowned. "No need to be so bad-tempered..."**

"**Your Jedi benevolence is skin deep." The general scoffed at the two. "Your true feelings are hatred and disgust; like all your pathetic Council towards anyone who gets in their way. If you knew **_**how**_** I killed all your comrades on Geonosis, you would fear me as all the rest..."**

**The Jedi still frowned. "I do not fear you, Grievous."**

**A unambiguous smirk was perceived in his jarring voice. "Well...we will just have to change that won't we?"**

***-*-*-*-*-***

**The arrival of Count Dooku back on Grievous's command ship was neither expected or anticipated. When she caught word that the count wanted to speak with her, Athela hurried to the location he was said to be at and stopped abruptly in front of the door. She took a deep breath, and entered, keeping her eyes downward. She heard footsteps, and in turn remained silent.**

"**I see you managed to arrive beforehand. Very wise." **

"**Yes..." Athela replied, driven to add after, "sir..." **

**Raising her eyes, she noted Dooku's skeptical expression. He blinked once, his mouth slightly ajar, seemingly trying to formulate words that would justify the impression in his mind. Athela just waited, until in a slightly bothered voice she asked, "What?"**

"**Oh...Forgive my incredulity, but I---" He searched for an explanation. "Your appearance."**

"**You wouldn't be the first person." **

**For one so usually placid, Dooku looked greatly unnerved. Certainly there were many thoughts of a similar nature going through his head in that very moment; even so he suppressed his agitation. Athela suddenly became concerned that she had given one of such a high rank a bad impression...or what notions she had put in his head. She went to speak out for herself and explain, but the count verbalized first.**

"**So, might I inquire as to **_**who**_** prompted you to go looking like..."---he gestured towards her distastefully---"**_**that**_**?"**

"**I don't know." Athela said truthfully, a bit too stridently for her own good. All that did was make her receive an even more doubtful look.**

"**Are you sure about that?" He endeavored, his eyes hard. "Because I seem to recall a time when the military leader of our cause had likewise undisclosed objectives---"**

**Scowling, she held back a curse.**

**Dooku shook his head at her, deliberately showing his annoyance. "Now, now, now. There is no reason to be thinking such things, it was only an observation."**

_**Your "observations" are going to be the death of you**_**...**

"**I do not think so...For you see, I am not so easily fooled by the deceptions of others. I can see right through them, Athela."**

"**That's very comforting, sir."**

**The count's features twisted, contorting into something **_**slightly**_** reminiscent of an amused facial expression. "I believe now would be the time to ask a small favor of you..." **

***-*-*-*-*-***

**They stood not ten paces from each other. **

**Namashi had not changed his mind up to that point, and still wished to battle formally. So Grievous, knowing that nothing good would come of it if he rejected the offer, consented, despite his raging hatred. The master's equal, Micao, remained a safe distance away, but the general noted that he had placed his hand upon the lightsaber within his cloak, standing by and ready to assist his friend if such a time would come.**

**Grievous's fingers twitched around the hilts of his lightsabers as he watched in a motionless silence, and the Jedi smiled mockingly. **

**"Whenever you're ready."**

**On cue, both the cyborg and his weapons flashed to life, wasting no time. The hiss of the blades filled the quietness when they met; devilishly golden and brown eyes locked. Pulling back one lightsaber while the other stayed securely on the adversary's, Grievous cut vertically at Namashi's chest. Reacting quickly, the Jedi broke the connection between his own blade and the other to save himself at the last second. Grievous cursed and swiftly kicked out, nailing the human in the chest and sending him onto his back in the long grass. Tearing up the foliage with every step, Grievous intently went to bring his talons down on the Jedi's head, but he rolled backwards just before anything could happen.**

**Getting irritated, Grievous watched Namashi get to his feet and casually brush himself off, as if this was only a game to him, then attack the cyborg again with a certain animalistic brutality that Grievous had seen only in himself. Interested, Grievous crossed his lightsabers across his upper body to avert an attempt to slice open his chest once more. Holding both lightsabers out at his side threateningly, asking, **_**daring**_** Namashi to come closer, he waited. **

**When the Jedi finally made his move, it was as the general had predicted. Namashi used a force enhanced move to leap well over Grievous's head, taking a downward slash at the strangely shaped skull of the enemy. At the same time did Grievous bring both arms upward simultaneously, trying to catch his opponent in mid-air. Both missed the other by an inch, but provided a very entertaining show for Micao, the blameless onlooker who feared for his friend's life. General Grievous was a practiced fighter---that much the boy knew, and Master Namashi's former strength had waned a little bit more than slightly. **

**Grievous swung around to catch the blue lightsaber blade on one of his own, and shoved Namashi backwards with all the strength he had. The Jedi anticipated this effort, and pulled away, doubling back from a different angle. Rotating to the left, Grievous attacked with vicious amusement, but only managing to faintly nick the hand in which Namashi's weapon was located. Wincing, Namashi stepped back, but Grievous didn't let him get any farther then he had been, determined not to lose. **

**"It appears..." Namashi managed a small smile as he spoke, yet he struggled to breath evenly. "...you have no concept of impartiality, General...Perhaps I may have overestimated you..." **

**"Life," Grievous replied roughly, his eyes burning, "was never **_**fair**_** to me in the first place!!" **

**That strange feeling, identical to what he had experienced mentally on the clone command ship a month or so back, hit him all over again. Losing all sense of civility---the little that he even possessed---his once adequate assault on the Jedi converted to pure madness. He pounded his lightsabers down on Namashi's over and over, using his own power against the human, whose energy level quickly dropped. Noticing this, the cyborg general ceased his incessant hits, parried around to the side, and slammed into his opponent with as much force as he could gather, catching the Jedi by just an inch. Satisfaction filled his mind when he heard a clear **_**snap**_** from the free arm he had collided with. Pain and serenity were both written on Namashi's face as he made an attempt to flex his hand muscles while blocking another blow from Grievous. When that effort proved unsuccessful, the human yelled something disjointed out of pure frustration and struggled to fend off attack after inhumanly brutal attack. **

**By that point, Volcom Micao had shrugged off his cloak, readied his lightsaber and ignited it. The blade was of a shiny yellow color, rarely seen except in the possession of the recognized Jedi Sentinels. This, naturally, was the reason it attracted the eye of Grievous, who had been engaged up to that time in the slow deterioration of the other Master. The cyborg, quite intrigued, chuckled maliciously and made for the still integral Jedi. Behind him, Namashi sank to his knees, deactivating his lightsaber to allow for support from his undamaged arm. Meanwhile, Grievous was already contesting Micao---experimenting with the boy's skills. And he certainly had them... **

**Every little move, Grievous felt, was being analyzed by those prying, green eyes. It seemed, that whatever the general did; whatever move he exploited, Micao was able to somehow prevent. So Grievous tried another tactic that he was sure Micao wouldn't be prepared for. Bracing himself and his lightsabers against the enemies weapon, he shut off the second lightsaber in his right hand. It was to his regret, that he had to drop it to the ground, for if he hadn't, his thought wouldn't have succeeded. Leaning in close to Micao's face, he whispered heartlessly: "I do hope that I will be the one to murder your friend..." The slight flicker of impiety that shone in the Jedi's eyes, and Grievous continued in a persuasive voice, "...and I have such **_**ideas**_** on how I will bring that about..."**

**Hate was evident in the young man's sudden change in posture, and Grievous knew he would win. In all his forty three years of life, he had learned many things; experienced much, and one of the most imperative ones he had stored in his mind was that, if he broke an opponent mentally, it was only a matter of time until they would succumb to him. **_**And that didn't only apply to fighting**_**...He reflected with a faint amount of amusement, regardless of the present circumstances. Counting the seconds mentally, Grievous concentrated his gaze on Micao's eyes. The bright green irises had contracted, curiously enough, so that the black centers had taken up three fourths of his eyes; over all rather outlandish for a human, unless...**

**Micao made the fateful mistake that Grievous had been waiting for---a small shifting of his hands on the hilt of his lightsaber. That was all he needed. The cyborg bore down on the Jedi. Making use of his free hand, he unsheathed his claws from the fist that held them, brought them back, and sharply ripped through the flesh of Micao's upper chest, directly over his heart. Stunned, Micao faltered, and between looking at the claw marks through his skin and the inflictor, he was able to spit out: "Wh-what---what are you **_**doing**_**?! That wasn't within the regulations of formal---"**

**"You foolish boy..." Grievous interrupted, "How long will it take you to realize that I do not keep my promises?"**

**Again, Grievous slashed at him, this time transversely across the face. Micao yelled something as he felt the razor sharp claws slicing through his flesh, and dropped his lightsaber. He gripped his face---or what was left of it---with both hands, and when he glared up at Grievous, he looked like death. Grievous regarded his work with contented aggression. One of the Jedi's eyes was injured beyond repair, and the general supposed he had caused the sudden blindness almost immediately. The marks went deep; scars that would haunt him for the rest of his days...if he even lived. Deliberating over possible results of leaving Micao conscious for the death of his friend, Grievous shrugged it off, and reinstated that the pathetic creature would be too busy licking his wounds to notice.**

**Ural Namashi **_**was**_** still alive, as far as Grievous knew, and with murderous intent, he went for him. **

**Namashi recoiled when he saw the shadow lurking over him. Cold dread overcame him; he had seen what this monster had done to poor Volcom. Grievous only snickered quietly, amazed at what the master had been reduced to. "So..." He purred wickedly, toying idly with the lightsaber handle in one hand, "How would **_**you**_** like to die, **_**Master**_**?" Mocking his victims was always so much fun...**

**"Our bodies die...but..."---Namashi blinked back an expression of pain---"...our souls live for all eternity..."**

**"Wrong answer." Grievous snapped, igniting the blade.**

**From his viewpoint, Micao cried out in horror. But no matter how one put it, he knew that Ural wouldn't be coming back. Through the pain hindering his right mind, he felt the tears streaming down the intact sections of his face. He ran his hands all over his head, all the while keeping his eye on the cyborg, who stood over Ural's body like an animal guarding its kill. Slowly, ever so slowly, Micao bent down to retrieve his lightsaber and began half-dragging himself towards Ural's murderer, whose domed head swiveled this way and that. Snarling, Micao withdrew a second weapon, identical to the first. Holding them with equal force in each hand, he constricted his fingers around them even harder the closer he got. Even when the monster looked his way, startled seemingly by him, he didn't stop.**

**Grievous watched him struggle in his direction inquisitively, until he was only a few feet away. What caught his attention was that instead of only one lightsaber, Micao had two, much like Asajj Ventress. He didn't get the chance to use them, however, for as soon as he activated them, Grievous acted. He caught both of Micao's wrists, twisting his arms back. Spinning him around then, Grievous hit him squarely in the back of the neck with the side of his arm, knocking him instantly unconscious. **

**Contemplating the two bodies before him, the cyborg had a feeling that this wasn't the last time he would see Micao, and with another content chuckle, he bent down to the dead Jedi.**

_**The day will not come soon enough...**_**He thought, taking possession of Namashi's lightsaber.**

***-*-*-*-*-* **

**A-390, designated as "Nez" among his friends, raised the electrobinoculars to the dark sheet of lextan that shielded his features, and scanned the horizon for any sign of life. Beside him was his newest subordinate, CT-45\429, who much rather preferred to be called "Corf" over any standard clone number. Not finding anything, Nez looked over to the young soldier, barely out of his fifth year of life, but because of the hastened growth process, he **_**looked**_** around his mid-twenties. Corf, a bona fide war enthusiast if Nez ever saw one, had taken up the skilled job of keeping inventory of all supplies, seeing as his mind had been reported as ten percent sharper then all of the other clones in his lot. **

**"Any sign of them?" He heard Corf ask, uncertainly. **

**"No."**

**"Did they specify what they were leaving the base for, exactly, sir?"**

**Somewhat goaded into his clipped answer, Nez turned fully to acknowledge the expectant trooper. "No," he repeated, then mumbling, "despite their orders."**

**Nez crossed his arms and heaved a sigh, frustrated with the lack of success. If the two Jedi weren't found, he might as well just shoot himself and be done with it. His eyes strayed to the other clones strewn around the general proximity, wondering if they were having more success then he and Corf, who had resumed to watching the horizon.**

_**Newbies**_**...Nez thought, shaking his head.**

**A trooper he knew to be around his age, more commonly known as "Nick"---due to the beat-up condition of his armor---walked up and stood at attention. "Six-seven-three-eight-one reporting. We believe to have found a sign, sir."**

**"Gather the men, we stay together to investigate." Behind his helmet, Nez's eyes narrowed grimly, "There's something bad out there." **

***-*-*-*-*-***

**The discovery of the two bodies came as a shock to everyone, and when the find was conveyed to the Jedi Council, theories began to swarm. With the scarcely living Jedi unconscious with paranormal scratch marks all over his face and chest, no one could make a decent estimate as to what exactly attacked him and his comrade. Something else peculiar was found in the examination of the dead body as well. Along with the broken arm, shoulder, and multiple ribs, there was a burnt perforation all the way through where the heart was, arousing astonishment in the minds of the Jedi Masters, as they observed. No regular weapon, even a vibro-blade, could bring about such a perfectly rounded aperture through its victim. And with equally troubled views, they all came to the same dismal conclusion.**

**Like on the bloody day on Geonosis, the man had died by a lightsaber.**

***-*-*-*-*-***

"**You mean they are still **_**alive**_**?" Asajj Ventress demanded, almost directly upon the general's arrival back.**

**Grievous growled agitatedly, plainly giving the freakish woman a warning not to push it. But he should have known that people like her didn't give up so easily, and she followed his hulking form through the small crowd that seemed to always watch for him. She persisted to complain about his "failure", until he had heard enough. Very unexpectedly, he twisted himself around; Ventress came to an hastily forced stop, just inches from ramming into him. Bending down to her eye level, he prepared to say something aggressive, but civil words would not come when the delightful thought of choking the life out of her popped into his head.**

**Silencing it, he clenched his hands into fists and snarled in a much more unrestrained voice, "I. Did. Not. FAIL!!"**

"**Didn't you now? How utterly predictable of you to lie like---"**

**Then Grievous took out Ural Namashi's lightsaber and shoved it in her face, pulling back away from her slightly. "Proof." Was all he said.**

**Not taking her eyes off him, Ventress cautiously took the hilt and looked it over warily. She then nodded and handed it back to him, noting the way he snatched it from her and stowed it away once more. "And the other...?" She said, raising one thin eyebrow compellingly.**

**Grievous turned his head away, quite shamefully at that. "He lives." He muttered inaudibly.**

"**What was that?" The commander put her hand to her ear, mocking him clearly. "I can't hear you! Can you speak up!?"**

"**He's alive!!" Grievous yelled at her. He afterward continued in a controlled tone. "I left him with his life; I had a feeling I would meet him again someday."**

"**Well aren't you the **_**psychic**_**." She replied dryly with a roll of her eyes. "Maybe I should tell Count Dooku about your little "prediction", and see what he says about it."**

**Cackling, in spite of himself, Grievous jerked his head upward in a gesture to go ahead and do just that. "Oh, by all means, please do..."---his laugher died down to a faint, guttural expression of his amusement---"...but expect to lose your head afterward."**

**Ventress said no more on the subject, knowing that she didn't stand a chance against the indestructible machine, even if they hadn't battled each other yet...**

**At that point in time, Grievous had went on his way back to his temporary domicile, hoping; **_**praying **_**that Ventress did not follow. He knew it was his own bad luck when she did, and he had to say, "Can you not go and bother someone else, Commander?" He sighed in anger afterward for emphasis. "Your little band of "followers" perhaps? I am convinced they would **_**love**_** having you around."**

**Her reply was dripping with sarcasm. "No, why would I ever do such a thing, when I know how much you enjoy my being around you." And Grievous had to wonder if that was what she really thought. **_**You are way off the mark then**_**...He imagined. Then again, how could she? Hate had no room for company...**

**"You are annoying me." **_**Way to state the obvious right there**_**...**

**Nothing came in reply to this, which satisfied Grievous for the moment. He walked in foreboding silence, his mind wondering to the question of what exactly had come of his ship within the two days he had been gone. One thing was for certain, though---if anything was wrong with it when he arrived back, the Confederacy would be short a couple hundred droids... He smiled mentally at that prospect. As he traveled through the base, his eyes pinpointed a specific droid coming his way. It stopped directly in front of him, and he waited for something stupid to be formulated from its amazingly small memory chip. That never came, instead it stuck out its hand and handed the cyborg a small hologram transceiver, which he turned on with the simple touch of a button. When the miniaturized figure of Count Dooku appeared, Grievous thrust the object at Ventress, who struggled to show her respect for her master and hold on to it at the same time.**

**Bowing only just, quickly enough to receive a transparent look of disgust from the count, Grievous waited for something derogatory to reach his audio receptors, making clear his equivalent revulsion in the mean time. Dooku addressed his aberrant disciple briefly, saying something that Grievous did not catch, but whatever it was, it made Ventress tense up. The Sith then returned his attention to the general, who stood attentively in grave anticipation. "I trust you **_**dealt **_**with the Jedi?"**

**It was Grievous's turn to stiffen. "To an extent..." He trailed off, averting the hologram.**

**He didn't need to see the reaction to know that Dooku was immediately exasperated. "General...need I bring up that it was **_**you **_**who delivered that very moving rejoinder to my reservation," Grievous's head jolted back, and he prepared to answer, but Dooku wouldn't have any of that, "...oh yes...I remember now. You said that I would "**_**I would believe you when the Jedi breathed their last**_**". Now I must ask, how miserably did you fail?"**

**Across from him, Ventress snickered, notwithstanding her unknown nervousness. Glaring at her, Grievous's eyes silenced her. He began to explain in a barely level manner. "Failure...is...not how I would put it. I **_**killed**_** one, and **_**blinded**_** another...partially. His uncompleted death was my fault, I confess, however I strongly believe that he has a purpose in the future."**

**Dooku's distorted expression was thoughtful. "Continue." He commanded.**

**And so Grievous told him all of it, what exactly happened out there on the endless plains. Surprisingly, Ventress neither commented or did anything to show insolence; that pleased Grievous like nothing else. Dooku interrupted him only once to inquire the legitimacy of a prior statement, but other then that: nothing.**

"**And still, when it all comes down to it, you didn't kill the other when you should have. I never thought I would live to see the day..."**

"**You just did." The cyborg snapped, ending a conversation that had dragged on for far longer then he had expected. It was in that instant, that a strange desire to speak to Athela came over him. He didn't know why. He didn't even **_**care**_**. He simply wanted to.**

"**Count," he said, "I wish to talk to...Athela."**

**It felt discomfited saying her name. **


	31. Full of Surprises

**Sooo...Hi. I want to make a public announcement concerning how fast I update this thing...Yes, I did get my inspiration back, but sadly, fanfiction has been giving me problems for months at the library where I go to get on this site, and I've been having to use random wireless hot spots that come up when driving through a development\sitting in a restaurant's parking lot and in this particular update's case, I'm using my school's wireless while my folks are in a parent teacher conference thing. :( Yeah, I know, but that's just how it is. The important thing is that I finished this jut in the nick of time before everyone starts inducing themselves in the holidays!! **

**PS. This flashback mostly turned out the way it did because of the influence of the same techno\new age song that I mentioned way back when, but the name will still remain unidentified...no matter what you say! HAHAHAAA! :P And in case any of you are guessing, which you probably aren't, this will mark the second encounter between Grievous and Athela in past times...Mmm, I dunno how that's gonna turn out, there might be some OOC-ishness in store...**

**Please review and tell me what you think! Your comments are my late birthday presents!**

**Do enjoy.**

**Chapter 31~Full of Surprises**

Caught in the dark clutches of a dream, Athela tossed and turned on the hard metal floor of her room. Shadows consumed her mind; distant memories strangled the very essence of her faded dreamscape. Everything was in faded colors, a product of some weakened factor. She was lost...

*-*-*-*-*-*

_The sky was starless that night. Clouds rolled in like bad news, veiling the atmosphere with a grey, murky obscureness. Sound of dusk enveloped the trees; the insects chorus drove an eerie song through them, mingling with the wind that blew softly. A small lake sparkled with the faint twinkle of the remaining stars, and the foliage around it rustled mellifluously. Fog rose off the water, swirling around above it. Somewhere in the distance, an animal call pierced the silence, and moments later, it was answered by one even farther away. _

_And experiencing all this, on a hill overlooking the lake, she sat. Supported by her arms, she looked upward, lost in space---gazing at the imminent clouds. The surrounding grasses stirred in the light breeze, brushing the skin on her arms as they swayed. Her long black hair fell in her eyes, and she pushed them away, catching with them a single tear that ran down her face. She straitened up and lifted her other hand cautiously from the ground, uncurling her fingers from around the entity she held. She gazed at it, longing for simpler days. These were unfamiliar to her, but she knew she could do nothing to stop it. Whether for better or for worse, she was growing up. Often, she would mull over why it had to be her; why not someone else? Then, the query would answer itself, and she determined that just _any_ poor soul couldn't handle it..._

_"You seek seclusion now, do you?" _

_The unexpected question startled her, and she froze where she was. There was only one who owned that voice was light years away---or so she assumed. For a tense moment, she verified her own sanity, took a deep breath, and looked over her shoulder. At first, she believed very strongly that she had completely gone mad by what she was seeing. Her hands ached to reach out---to feel the empty space in the air where the figure was, but she couldn't bring herself to. It was wonderful and terrifying at the same time. _

_"I would not blame you..." He continued, perceptively. "This world is corrupt."_

_She was barely able to ask the question when it originated, but only just she said, "Are you truly real?" It might have sounded daft to most, but her inquiry was full of candor._

_Her answer was given in a simple gesture, that opened a certain warmness in her heart that she had not experienced in a very long time---six years in fact. So many emotions welled up inside that she feared it might be the end of her. So many responses to the unexpected situation. Yes, in that effortless nod of his head, she was sent down the path of confusion._

_When nothing else would come to her, the only thing she could utter was quiet and evocative. "I am a fool."_

_He did not move when he replied. "You have known only sorrow, I can see right through it. A face which was once graced with joy is now scarred with hate, and your life has crumbled beneath you because of it. I can not offer commiseration, not to you, not even to myself, but there is something that I am sure will put the light back in your eyes."_

_Very slowly, she raised her head to look at him. "What?" She asked optimistically._

_He knelt before her, bringing a hand to the side of her face. "Hope."_

_Her breath caught in her throat. She had not heard this word for so long it had become but a memory in the back of her mind. She gazed at him expressively, not expecting any more comfort then the diminutive physical contact. But even that lightened her spirits. She had lived in seclusion for the years of his absence, and missed the genuine communication with others._

_"I..." She stuttered, and suddenly felt very small. Overwrought, she edged away turning her back to the frightening presence she had gone without for too long. "Just don't waste your time." She concluded, lowering her head in shame. "I am not worth it."_

_"What do you mean?"_

_"Would it be so different, if you were to encounter one like me? If there is any doubt I am the first to assure you that your actions would be unerringly identical."_

_It hurt saying it, but when everything came down to it, the concept was true---that the way the man acted and the way he seemed to care was the same for all who had lost faith. The fact of this only worsened the situation, and a sadness as deep as the unending expanse of stars surged to life in her soul. She realized just how alone she really was, how much the world had darkened her ability to feel. But yet, she didn't want to allow herself to believe that a once respected ally could express so much concern and not mean any of it. She _couldn't_ believe it._

_"Why would I ever do an insensitive thing like which you speak?" A palpable amount of indignation tightened the tranquil atmosphere around her, sending a new wave of shivers through her, but that time in fear. He must have noticed that his resentment had reached her ears, because the tension in the air was lifted, and somehow, the space between them was filled suddenly, in the face of her uncertainty. She stiffened, fully aware of the power of this person, so close behind her that they almost touched---the silent moment was filled with intricate sentiments, some good, and some pervaded by antipathy. And when he spoke again, his words were calm and earnest. "You are not just another discouragement; not just a dishonest woman with some kind of facade. I know this for a fact. I know who you are, and what you could become with the proper guidance and time. It is inevitable; what is in your bloodline." _

_Unbeknownst to him, her eyes widened, and she was about to reply, when---_

*-*-*-*-*-*

Athela felt the hand shake her arm, tearing her from a world where everything seemed okay. Why did this always have to happen?! Someone _always _had to interrupt her sleep! She opened her eyes slowly, with great regret at that, to see the inexpressive droid face peering down at her, almost curiously. She blinked, and it twitched.

"You've been told to come with me to meet with Count Dooku on the bridge at once."

_Again? _She thought. _I agreed to the job he had for me, what now!?_

"I can get there fine on my own."

Athela pushed the droid out of the way, and headed for the door. She heard it yell something behind her, but didn't give it a second thought. Her mind swam with all the possible things she could have done wrong, with her being the ineffectual, hopeless being that she was, and an predestined feeling of dread arose in her. Was she in some sort of danger being all alone on this ship without the cyborg there to assure that his deal wasn't broken? She instantly reconsidered that reflection; why should she deem that detestable creature a protector when he had come so close to killing her all those times? It was all insanity, Athela labeled it.

She observed, much to her uneasiness, that the repetitive hallways were growing even more familiar to her, despite the fact that it hadn't even been that long---she guessed it to be a few months. Along with this, an intense sense of value had developed for this place, and though she would be happy to leave any day, she knew it would be a site she would not soon forget. What disturbed her even more, was the fact that she also was sure she would actually _miss_ Grievous when---or if---she ever left. In all probability she would awake after her departure waiting to get shouted at, or cursed out, or even kicked around by the very thing that she still wanted so very badly to destroy. It was a very complicated acquaintance that needed to go one way or another. Either she could conspire against him---with herself, since she was obviously the only one on the whole entire vessel that would not kill herself for it---or accept the fact that she was doubtlessly stuck here until the day she died, and make the best of it. Still...things were tolerable between her and everyone else, even the short-tempered cyborg would have to admit that she added an undeniable verve to an unanimated world.

Athela arrived at the entrance to the command bridge with time to spare, honestly hoping that whatever she had been called to do didn't involve to much effort...unless of course it was the job that Count Dooku had originally appointed her to execute. But that task was assumed to be somewhere in the distant future, not only a single day after first hearing about it! It was all so unusual, being around people who said one thing one day, and said something completely different the next. Frankly, it drove Athela crazy, for she couldn't stand people's mendaciousness. Pretenses weren't exactly on her list of favored acts.

With this opinion on her brain, she hit the button that alerted a droid on the other side of her presence, and waited anxiously. Then she thought everything was getting annoyingly repetitive. She always found herself being the one standing in front of door waiting for them to open it for her. It was just a passing remark, and it disappeared as soon as the pressure locks on the entrance were released.

She strode into the bustling space, filled with droids piloting the cruiser, and at the large viewport with his back turned, Count Dooku. The automatons regarded her with intermittent awareness, only glancing at her before returning to their programmed work. One in particular pointed out something to her and asked a question with reference to a technological subject. Her response: she shrugged and walked away, leaving the little droid to disturb one of its colleagues. Athela stopped a few yards from the count, and dipped her head slightly, which surprised even her.

Dooku frowned and gave her a quizzical look, then said, "As you know, General Grievous is working on strengthening the Confederacy's ties to a small Outer Rim world whose research in biochemistry has aided us in many ways. I contacted him to obtain a valid report, and learned of his engagements with two Jedi." He paused, and Athela wondered where he was going with this.

"I...am aware of the situation, Count. The General told me these things before he left...even if he left out on some of the details. Why are you telling me these things, then?"

Dooku smiled; such a frightening action for him that got Athela every time. "You are growing in maturity and sophistication. I recall a time when your answer would have been instantly derisive. Your..._experiences_ with Grievous must have helped you." She blinked, averting her eyes from the human, afraid that a single action would evoke another indicative statement. The count went on. "And now, I must inform you, that he has asked for you." Athela had to look back at him. "He _wants_ to talk to you." Dooku finished, serenely amused.

"_Why_?" She nearly spat at him. "What reason would he have to feel the need to do that? I'm no more a conversationalist to him then---"

"Perhaps I was wrong about you..."

Athela stopped, shocked. "Come again?"

"I thought you sincerely enjoyed his company. Am I mistaken?"

Flanked by two equally complicated circumstances if she answered incorrectly, Athela chose to ignore the question, and change the subject. "I'll...I will talk to him, I guess." She hardened her expression. "I would not want to make him _angry_...don't you agree?"

Dooku shook his head. "You really are full of surprises aren't you?"

"You could say that."

*-*-*-*-*-*

"I see you finally received the message." Grievous commented, eyeing Athela when she finally contacted him. He would have went on, but he wasn't exactly sure of what to say. It was not on a regular basis that he actually _wanted_ to have a discussion with the sarcastic female, but the inclination had come on so strongly that he hadn't had time to reconsider before he asked the question. The general could only picture what Count Dooku was thinking of this at the moment, and immediately disposed of the idea. Instead he continued. "I trust everything is going acceptably?" No direct answer. Grievous didn't give her the time of day either. "No Republic attacks I should imagine?"

"No sir."

In those two little words, he picked up the hint of ambiguity...and also the fact that her voice sounded very much like Ventress's in the minute. _That...is very disturbing indeed_...

"Don't you have anything else to say: you who is never at a loss?"

"Not exactly...This was kind of abrupt. And may I say, you seem in a very good mood sir!" She said rather happily. "Were you successful on your _ex-cursions_?"

Grievous wasn't positive why she said it so strangely, but her observation about his mood made him wonder. "No. Not entirely. I still have a whole Republic army to wipe out. There is a very meticulous schedule that I am running by, in attempt to return to my fleet by the end of this week."

"_You_ have a _schedule_?" Cynicism grew in the sentence. "What is it? Like: eradicate some people, terrorize some innocent civilians for the pure amusement of it, take a twenty second break, then destroy some more? Oh yes, a very thorough agenda, Grievous."

"That's _General_ to you." He corrected. "People like you do not have the liberty of first names, as I believe I have stressed many times before."

"Well excuse me for breathing!"

"That is not _MY_ problem! _YOU _are the one who refuses to listen to my instructions, no matter how many times I repeat myself!"

She didn't reply for a long while, apparently taking in what he had said. But when she did...

"You're enjoying this too much!" Athela laughed unexpectedly, pointing at him. "Now I know why you wanted to talk to me! You just like arguing with someone who you know won't cower."

Grievous's shoulders drooped. That idiot. Did she really think that he _liked _quarrelling with her relentlessly? Clearly, she needed to be more attentive of how irritated she made him. And he thought that hurting her that one time was enough. When he got back--- Then again, it _was_ his fault that this small, petty dispute had begun. _He_ was the one who had ordered Athela to contact him. _He_ was the one who had chosen to take that erratic immature sarcasm to heart. It was his fault entirely.

Such conflicting thoughts made him mad, and the urge to kill her once again came to life...

...and he cut the transmission.

*-*-*-*-*-*

**Okay, now before you start thinking: "Wow that was a really random chapter ending!", I have some things to stress.**

**1. Athela is struggling with many things mentally, and the past is obviously haunting her, so her mood swings attribute to just that!**

**2. Grievous is also trying to even things out in his brain. He knows who Athela is, but can't quite figure out what exactly happened between them way back when. He also is fighting the urges to simply kill her, because I believe that with all the messing around with his mind they did, he would probably have to have a lot of self control not to just eliminate someone who annoys him so much...thus the reason why he just gave up talking to her, to stop any ideas from flowing through his head...**

**REVIEWS PLEASE!!**


	32. A Rising Conspiracy

**Yeah, I'm on a role now! Heh, watch me put this up and not type a single word for this for months...Anywho, I figured the time has come around again to bring Rahkah back, and after such a vivid remembrance of past times back in chapter 28, I should suppose that its time for him to face up to the facts and get on with his life! There'll be some humor at his expense, and later an idea that just hit me as rather intriguing. Sorry, no Grievous in this one. I'm not sure, maybe he'll come on in at the end somewhere...but most likely not if things go on as I expect they will. The spotlight is on Rahkah................................now.**

**Chapter 32~A Conspiracy Rising **

The night was, at times, a nameless evil, that the majority found it a most dreadful situation when they would find themselves caught out in it---ensnared by the invisible grasp of darkness. Normal roving travelers would be petrified.

Not Rahkah.

His mind was elsewhere, and should he have been any more entranced, he would have surely strayed off the path and run himself into a tree. He had always been able to see well in even the darkest of places, so it merely seemed like early evening in his eyes, when in reality it was pitch black. Rahkah's thoughts soon wandered to the boy, Yeiro. Being naturally fond of the kid, he couldn't help but worry what kind of trouble his young friend might be getting himself into; albeit anything Yeiro roused could never possibly be as bad as what Rahkah, himself had done. Vexed, he cursed himself, like so many other times before, for allowing himself to be dragged back into thoughts of a time that was long gone. His footsteps on the well worn path he walked grew heavy; he wanted someone to murder, someone to take out his anger on.

Bringing his hands to his throbbing head, he stopped entirely from his rapidly increasing pace, tilting his head back and turning aimlessly, almost in a circle, before he sighed and reconsidered himself as a person. He had been doing a lot of that in the past weeks, but nothing seemed to be helping him. All he wanted to do was die. _Then no one would have to worry about me any more_...He would think sensibly, or so he imagined, at the moment the initiative was created. But there was a single factor holding him from the ideas of suicide flowing through him...

...and that was pride.

Even with all the regrettable things he had done in his life, he still had his pride, and no one could take that away from him. Rahkah knew beyond a shadow of a doubt there was still some climactic peak in his life yet to come, he just couldn't put a finger on what exactly that was. Until then, he would wait in silence...right after he retrieved a very mentally stricken Yeiro and explained to him that "everything was done when I wasn't entirely sane" and that "nothing I did was ever meant to hurt you". It was a complete and utter lie, but if there was one thing Rahkah lived by, it was the verity that he lived in the spur of the moment, and didn't give a second thought to what he was doing until it was too late to undo it---which was what had gotten him into irredeemable problems time and time again.

Feeling virtually stable again, Rahkah lowered his arms to his sides and went on his way, determined to locate Yeiro by the next sunset.

*-*-*-*-*-*

It was dawn by the time Yeiro reached a settlement, and he hoped his travels were over. The few women and children that stood outside the simply constructed domiciles, tore themselves away from what they were doing to stare when the boy stepped into visible range, giving him a mixture of reactions. Much like when he and Rahkah had encountered other people before, most looked to wonder where he had come from, and the younger ones went to hide instinctively behind their mothers. Another young male, who seemed to be about Yeiro's age, sized him up from a distance. He had a hairless scalp, other then the single braid coming from the middle of his head and trailing over his shoulder to his abdominal region. Yeiro tried not to make eye contact with him, exploiting the tactics his previous traveling companion had taught him.

When he brought his eyes back to the scene in front of him, he noted with a sinking feeling that all the preceding village inhabitants had retreated into their homes. Not knowing what to do, he headed to the largest structure at the back of everything, under the impression that someone there could help him. His gait slowed, and the shyness from years of solitude found its way back into him. He wasn't like this; one to barge into someone else's home and impose on them the urge to stay with them until further notice. It just wasn't in him. Yeiro had to overcome this and push all those little fears aside as he came to the entry---some kind of animal pelt cut in half to form a kind of door. Without further thought, he invited himself in abruptly, immediately reassessing his low rank, and what could possibly happen if the home's residents snubbed him.

The interior was much larger then the outside gave the impression of being. The width was about twenty feet from front to back, and the height was half that. Near the far wall, a simple ladder lead up to a platformed second level that took up the back half. Up above the platform, hung a variety of foods, ranging from types of roots, to divisions of dried out meat. Below the raised area, thin bark was woven together to form another wall between the apparent "main room" and whatever lied beyond. A well worn fire pit in the ground was off to the side as well, so Yeiro saw after another glace around.

"Who are you?" A rough voice commanded unpredictably.

All at once, Yeiro was trying to explain himself, and found himself face to face with a moderately young man, older than the one he had seen on his way in, but not extremely so. The man was moderately prepossessing, but he was missing half a leg, and supported himself on a sturdy cane-like tool carved from a thick tree branch. He had short black hair, only running in one stripe from his forehead down the back of his neck. A handprint of white face paint covered the better part of his facial features, and Yeiro knew at once that he must be some sort of spiritual leader. He shook his head disgracefully at Yeiro's babbling.

"I do not want your excuses, son. I want to know the true reason you dare enter this place."

Yeiro took a deep breath, calming himself before he said anything else that would bring harm to him. "I...I am sorry for intruding on your home. The reality is, that I am seeking shelter for a time from one who all the people on this world think to be dead."

The boy was given his fair share of incredulity. "Who? Who would that be?"

"I do not suppose you recall a certain general back in the Huk War by the name of N'jaere viir Rahkah, do you?"

His questioner's russet skin seemed to pale slightly, and his eyes snapped wide open. "That...is not possible. He is dead."

Yeiro came back almost instantly. "No. I have seen him. He has been my traveling companion for months. I joined him on his journey to atone for his past. We were joined by another still, whose name was Veliia...She is now dead by his hand, along with a proclaimed infiltrator, who Rahkah also made the acquaintance of previously."

A tense silence grew, and Yeiro waited nervously to see if the man was believing what he said.

Finally: "Come with me." Yeiro was told. "I am known as Arnum Ved, and I promise you that you have our protection...if what you say is true."

"Really?" Yeiro could hardly trust what he was hearing. He followed Arnum out of the building. "Where are you taking me?"

"To my father, the village shaman. He must know of this before we can take appropriate measures to prepare for the arrival of that demon, if indeed he is coming here in search of you. We will send word to the surrounding villages, so that they may be on the lookout as well." Arnum traveled very fast, despite his disability. Yeiro walked swiftly beside him, his head once again brimming with questions. "Then, we will find you a place to stay that will keep you safe."

"You have my greatest thanks."

*-*-*-*-*-*

The kid had a head start on Rahkah, and he didn't know where to start looking. There were simply too many places Yeiro could be, and an even greater amount of places where he wasn't, additionally. Rahkah was uncertain that he could keep his identity masked long enough to hunt his subject down, hence the reason why he was very faltering on whether to enter a large, well established town when he came to one. It would be risky, that was for sure, because he was familiar with the place..._quite_ familiar with it. The irony had to be the gods, bringing their wrath down on him in this form; but then again, why should they? He had confessed! He was a free man! It could only be coincidence then.

Rahkah spent a long time scheming and going over all the ways that they could find out who he was, along with ways that he could prevent that from occurring without compromising the job at hand. It was a tedious process that took a lot out of him. In fact, he spent days hiding out by a rocky outcropping only a little ways near the town.

This was his mistake...

Failure came on the fourth day, just before his grand entrance, in the form of three equally astonished hunters, each armed with spears. They caught him sleeping at the base of a large rock, and very nearly killed him, if it weren't for one of the men's awareness that the stranger might be a missing piece of the enigma that made up the planet's dark history. Rahkah was woken up to the gruff orders of his new captors, and openly stated his regret for still not having any weapons---he had left the two knives behind long ago, for personal reasons. As he tried to explain to the uptight hunters that he wasn't a threat to them at all, they had already come by means of binding his hands together behind his back, and urging him forward back to the town. All the way back, he rambled on about his purpose, but the only real response he got out of the three was an order to shut up and walk, in conjunction with an eye roll. They just didn't seem to understand that all he wanted to know was if a boy of fifteen---nearly sixteen---standard years had come into the colony within the last couple weeks. Rahkah couldn't get why they wouldn't listen to him. Surely they couldn't be _that_ unintelligent! They lived in a highly developed town for the ancestor's sakes!

So, with a trounced feeling, Rahkah merely let them escort him back to wherever they planned on taking him. He almost struck out in violence when they forced him to walk humiliatingly through the streets like some live hunting trophy being lead to the slaughter, to which he hoped he wasn't. Everyone stared, and a bad case of déjà-vu came around for the billionth time, bringing back the memory of months before, when he and Yeiro had walked through a similar municipality. Each opportunity he had, he took advantage of it, so when anybody stared at him, he gave them a death glare unlike any other, that made them turn their eyes elsewhere. _Yeah, that's right_...Rahkah thought with contentment._ Just keep on doing your own little things, people_...

At last, his subjugators brought Rahkah into an enormous building that brought back many pleasant memories to the prior commander. With a feeling of nostalgia, his gaze swept the lively expanse as soon as he walked in. Various aged people sat at tables, while others crowded around the bar, waiting for drinks or simply conversing. Rahkah remembered a time when he and the seven would all sit in the back corner, and he noted that the table was still there...and unoccupied. At least people had _some_ respect for the dead left in them. Over all, it was exactly as it had been left after the war had ended, and Rahkah hoped that it would stay that way.

Obviously it was too much to ask, because upon his arrival inside, everything quieted. Not a soul moved or said a word. Men with their drinks held their arms in mid air, mouths gaping. Rahkah recognized many of them, and they, evidently, him.

"Do not worry about him." The biggest of the hunters said, his intimidating voice turning everybody back to what they were doing. The talking rose again, as they all tried to ignore the hostage being brought through the premises. A group of young females watched Rahkah attentively as he stumbled past the table where they sat, hinting that he should come back around once he got his problems sorted out. Getting his old compulsion to be around them back, he didn't reply. If there was one thing he had learned earlier in life, there was _nothing_ more dangerous then women. He could take a legion of enemies standing in front of him, but a solitary woman could reduce him to the state of a senseless madman. He spoke from experience!

Tearing his mind away from the feminine laughter drifting after him, he began to wonder where they were taking him. Then, the corner table came into his view. Now he understood, and thought it was a hard thing to grasp as to how they came upon this information, he could not deny it. Somehow, by one way or another, the inhabitants of this town had kept all of the details of the commander's lives in their heads, and they were tormenting Rahkah with it. He found, that with much horror, they even knew which spot he had sat at so many times over two decades ago. Almost sadly, when he was forcefully seated, he eyed the vacant spots where his allies and comrades had been back then. _Dau-Maz, T'lit'co, Aavok, Karivasi_...He could name them all and knew precisely where they had been. Then...there were the _other_ two, who weren't the "regulars". Sometimes they had been there; most of the time they hadn't, but Rahkah preferred not to go down that particular road. When he focused in on where the infrequent members had sat, little pieces of a commencing meeting flashed through his head.

_Laugher._

_Talking._

_Two shadows._

_Dizzy reflections._

_Unknown face staring._

_A single nod._

_Ceiling._

_Dark screen of vision._

_Yelling._

The details were obscured, and Rahkah was quite sure that he didn't wish to bring them to mind.

Rahkah's captors guarded him like a father guarding a small child, and it didn't really start to get on his nerves until nothing happened. He was just sitting there, waiting for something. He could have asked the hunters what was in store for him. He could have, but he chose not to. Rahkah _could _have done a lot of things. All the while, he worked with the bindings on his wrists. By then, a plan had begun to form about how he would escape this predicament. The three men around him still held their hunting spears, and if Rahkah was able to get his hands free---if he was fast enough, he could take one of the weapons and threaten his way out of this. Assuaging acts would do him no good now. They never seemed to...

Presently, another man appeared at the table. He took a seat across from Rahkah and folded his hands neatly on the surface. Everything about him screamed "well off", and this absolutely disgusted Rahkah. How he hated the rich---only after being one of them and seeing what it did to him, he realized how revolting wealth was. The one was more decorated then an exotic bird, with off-worldly robes the color of blood, contrasting the different shade of his skin. The attire had a golden collar on it, and a same colored belt around the waist. Rich boy also sported a flashy ring on practically every finger, and Rahkah rolled his eyes unashamedly at the showy appearance.

"And so the fearless fighter comes back from the grave to haunt those whom he will." When he spoke, his voice was annoyingly poetic, yet possessed a certain sneering quality that made Rahkah want to disable his ability to talk at all. Watching Rahkah conscientiously, the unknown rich man chuckled faintly. "Only to find that the ones he wronged are prepared to get to him first..."

If he could have, Rahkah would have slammed his fist down on the tabletop at that point. "I didn't come here to hurt anyone!" He shouted, his deep voice carrying across the entire room. He gestured towards the annoyance with his head, unable to point. "I came looking for a kid. A _kid_!! Does doing that suddenly mean I'm gonna kill everybody?! I think _not_!"

"General Rahkah, regardless of what you may think, we have done this for your own wellbeing." The speaker leaned forward slightly. "And do not worry about the child. I assure you that he is...well cared for."

"If you so much as lay a finger on him, I'll rip you apart!"

Another irritating chortle. "That is a very harsh threat from a man who can not move his arms. No, no, the boy. Yeiro, I believe?" Rahkah's face fell. How did he know? "Yes, well, he seems to think that you are coming to, ahem, _kill_ him, and from what I hear, he would not be the first you murdered within the past few weeks, would he, General?"

Rolling his eyes again, Rahkah corrected, "Would you just stop with the "General" thing? That's been history since day one! And, before I tell you anything more, I want your name, rich boy."

"I do not think you understand---"

"Oh, I do all right! Rich boy, rich boy, rich boY!. Do you honestly like the sound of that, huh? Cause I sure don't..._you_."

A sigh. "Very well! But only because I know it will move things along smoother then they are at present." Rahkah waited for the name. "Okohn nè Ihawa. I am a high ranking official from the temple at Chi-lat'lin, and was called here when your young acquaintance plead for help from a tribe in the east. Does that better answer your question?" Okohn asked with a smug expression.

Rahkah almost had his hands freed by the time the official continued on.

"Your death would be...satisfying to us in many ways, but I have come upon a use for you that will be revealed to you sometime in the near future. Seeing as you have such a crooked mind, I thought it best for you to be around someone who would help you to become a better man, then perhaps you might someday start a new life elsewhere, and prove to the world that you really do have something more in you besides deceit and brash decisions." The sneery voice was _exceedingly _frustrating Rahkah, and by the time he knew he was free, he had to hold himself back and wait for the right moment. Okohn looked at the wall behind the captive. "Then, I become conscious of the fact that _that would never happen_."

Rahkah gave a short, fake smirk. "Thank you for openly stating the obvious, Ihawa! I never would have figured it out on my own, if it weren't for your cunning brain!"

Okohn ignored the comment, and teased, "Isn't it sad...that you have lived so long, and outsmarted so many, to be brought to the ground at last by a child? You are a truly pathetic excuse for a man and a life form." He motioned for two of the hunters to make Rahkah get to his feet. "And now...I hold your life in my hands!"

It was finally the right opportunity, and immediately when they forced him to stand, Rahkah ripped one hand out from behind him and backhanded the hunter on his right in the face, taking hold of the spear he held in the process. He then grabbed the other by the neck, and slammed his head down on the table, hard enough to knock him unconscious. The hunter that was unharmed went in to stop Rahkah from inflicting any more harm on his friends, aiming with his weapon to kill, but the soldier was faster, and blocked the effort, winding an ankle around the other's, and tripping him up. Rahkah brought a foot down on the hunter's back when he got the chance, impelling him face down onto the dirt floor. The first one that the previous leader had attacked came back at him, and the one on the floor was soon to his feet again. Not knowing where to go from there, Rahkah resorted to another tactic that always worked for everyone else.

He swept up behind Okohn and in one fluid motion, he cracked the spear in half over his knee, making the pointed end shorter then the handle end. And since the official was a good few inches shorter then he was, Rahkah stood over him dauntingly, shoving the sharp end of the broken weapon under Okohn's neck. The two hunters stopped their advance.

"Not another step, boys." Rahkah told them cockily. "Or you can say bye-bye to your little representative here. And I _will_ do it; you understand?" They stared at him---the thick hair falling in his face, the scars over his whole body, the surreal anger in his eyes---it was all there, and very unadulterated. "Now...I want you to do something for---"

He was cut off as someone seized him from behind. Rahkah released Okohn, just in time to whirl around to fend off whoever was trying to be a hero. It was one of his old friends, who he would come there with to just talk and be in good spirits with; it hurt to see him turning on Rahkah. The one friend was joined by soon, the whole local's population, and with a sigh of recognition, Rahkah accepted the fact that he was beaten---he just wasn't used to this type of fighting any more. He dropped the spear half to the ground and held up his arms submissively, sentient that if he had only done this earlier, things would probably go a whole lot efficiently in whatever came next.

The two remaining hunters tied up his hands again, and Rahkah let them with only minimal refutation, even when they bound him so tightly that his fingers went numb. Okohn appeared in front of him, snickering, and appearing to be thinking about what he could say to offend Rahkah in that moment. "So you see," he finally scoffed out, "you can not contest the willpower of an entire populace." His head snapped over to a particularly tough man on the outside edge of the crowd; he stepped forward. "Take the _worshiped_ _General_ to a place where he can be properly confined, please. I have some arrangements to make..."

*-*-*-*-*-*

An hour or so later, Rahkah was locked up in a stockade that he once would have brought his enemies to. He slumped against the wall of the caged in room they had given him, and drummed his fingers along the filthy floor. Naturally, he would have cared, but for some reason, he didn't. This was just another part of his terrible life, and he had grown used to the fact that nothing ever went right for him...never. He glanced around, looking to see if there was anyone to talk to, and, finding none, he closed his eyes and attempted to sleep. That was out of the question in entirety, and Rahkah growled animalisticlly, wanting to know why everything always had to happen to him. Hopefully, that preened official would remember him, and get him out of here sooner or later---but preferably sooner.

"So..." He turned to the guard at the door. "How long have you been, um, on this job?"

No answer.

"That's...that's impressive." Rahkah replied to nothing. "And, how many prisoners have you seen come through here? I would think that you would have seen some of the barbaric neighbors of ours, 'ey?" When still, the guard didn't respond, Rahkah moved over to the frame of the "cell", and looked up at his sentry emotively. "I bet'cha a lot of those guys tried to kill you, huh? That must have been _dreadful_ to undergo. Day after day of their constant chattering in a language you didn't understand...You have my pity."

The one to whom he spoke kept his head turned away from the detainee, muttering something to himself.

"You know...I'm thinkin' that you gotta lighten up a little bit. How about I give you something along the lines of _money_, and you can go buy yourself a drink on me. You would like that wouldn't you? Huh?" Rahkah cackled, and to his deep unrest, the psychosis in it was far too apparent for comfort. In spite of this, he went on. "I bet you would"---he shifted---"cause you don't have anything else better to do with yourself."

Very silently, yet heatedly, the guard said, "Not on your life."

"Oh, so you don't _trust_ little old me? But even a total imbecile can see that I'm teeming with innocence." When the guard looked at him, he cocked his head to the side inquisitively. "Riiight?" His watcher went back to being quiet. This only encouraged Rahkah. "You don't have a life do you?"

"Not really." The retort was sharp.

"Okay, so now we're getting somewhere. You got a wife, buddy? Kids? Any relatives? A nice, talkative guy like you should have plenty of 'em..."

The guard cracked.

"Would you shut up already!?" He snapped, balling his fists at his sides. "Your not in a good enough situation to be talking to people like that anyway!"

"Aren't I?" Rahkah's gaze drifted to the door as it was opened, and in walked Okohn and another who he couldn't see. "We'll just have to see about that."

It was strange actually, seeing them coming for him this early on in time: only a few hours after being placed in here. They must have come to a decision about him quickly...which most likely was something along the lines of death. Of course Rahkah wouldn't mind. If it was in the gods eternal plan for him, who was he to deny them? Although, he _did_ hope, if indeed his captors' plans were to execute him, that it wouldn't be long and torturous; Rahkah _hated_ long waits, as one might notice about him. He grasped, judging by how the rich guy was looking at him, that the way he was crouched at the edge of the barrier wasn't helping his chances any. Making his expression serious enough to make it look like he cared, he took on a more civilized posture, and stood up.

"Oh look!" Rahkah said, falsely surprised and happy. "It's my buddy from earlier today!" His sickeningly fake smile grew. "I thought I'd never see you again!"

Okohn grimaced at him in return to his fabricated joy, and then said to the guard in a regretful tone, "Let him out. We have proposition to make with him."

"Really...?"

The guard cast an angry look at Rahkah in regards to his answering for him, and Rahkah looked away and pretended to be induced in the floor. "He has been like this ever since he was brought in here. Sarcastic remarks, talking to himself, talking _my_ ear off. I think he suffers from insanity."

"I do not doubt you for a minute, my good man. And, I will personally see to it that you are appropriately compensated for your trouble. For now, however, I need you to emit him, there is a job I have for him, should he choose to cooperate with the restrictions."

Once more, Rahkah felt Okohn's eyes on him. "Would you like that?" The irritating man asked him, and he nodded. "Very good. As soon as you are freed, you will follow me, and you will _not_ try to escape, or the consequences will cost you more then you have."

When he was at last let out, Rahkah was overly tempted just to bolt out, take off into the trees, and keep running until he was sure that they wouldn't follow him. But what then? Indisputably other towns had heard that he was alive, if that little scandalmonger who he used to call his friend had talked too much, and would be looking for any signs of him. Who knew what _they_ would do to him. At least _here_ he was familiar with people and places, where as anywhere else he wouldn't be. So, in the end, he decided just to do what they were telling him, although everything inside screamed at him to rebel.

Rahkah walked behind Okohn---with the predictable amount of sentinels all surrounding them---for a period of time that dragged on longer then it should have, and all the while, Rahkah waited for the official to explain what was happening. When the details were given, the previous commander was surprised to find that what he was going to have to do wasn't nearly as bad as he has suspected. Okohn had a relation, a niece, as it were, that came from an ancestry with a high ranking. Further probing showed that the girl was from the family of a past general that had fought beside Rahkah precedently, but Okohn refused to give a name. The query came up concerning if this niece of the representative's was like him; it clearly annoyed and insulted Okohn, but he answered rather curtly that it was not so.

Soon after, Rahkah learned that he was to be a type of bodyguard to this girl, and it infuriated him.

"You mean to tell me, that I'll be slaving away over a _child_!?"

"I would not call her a child. You will find that it is not as trying as you may think. While I would much rather see you die as well, the higher powers have determined after much intercession with the sacred ancestors that this is the best solution for your problems." There had to be a catch to all this... "I must tell you though, that your murder charges will not be dropped, and you will have to pay for them in some way. I have several little ideas if you are interested, General."

"Don't call me that! And no! I'm not interested! So I killed some people! We've all done that at one point in our lives! The word is 'war', wise guy!"

"I have not." Of course he hadn't! "I find the notion defiling to my spiritual calling. My leaders would unquestionably release me from their services if that happened."

Rahkah determined that it was in his best interest to stop talking, before he embarrassed himself more.

*-*-*-*-*-*

They arrived at a moderately sized building within the hour, and to Rahkah's disclosure, it was the home of his old father figure, Dau-Maz. As of late, he hadn't known what had become of all the man's property and family. The last thing he had heard, was on the night after Dau-Maz had died, that his brother had taken care of his large family---the same that had come to pass with the other generals' kin. So this girl was related to the only good influence Rahkah ever had in his life? Maybe this wouldn't be so torturous after all.

Okohn lead him through the home, eerily silent and untenanted. The main room that should have been filled was vacant, and the passageways that were usually filled with talking and laughter from children were abandoned. For a second, Rahkah had to wonder if they were all dead from the years of famine and starvation. But no, he looked down a hall, branching off from the central one, to see a very small kid standing there ominously, watching the visitors with its large eyes. It startled Rahkah, but also relieved him at the same time. At least he could be confident that there were some still living. Maybe they just heard he was coming and hid themselves within the countless rooms of Dau-Maz's residence.

In time, Okohn stopped at a place that had not a door, but a kind of black silk spanning down to the floor. So this girl was rich too, then? Why should she need someone like Rahkah serving her if she was living in wealth? Okohn had to either be mad, or smart to think that putting Rahkah in a condition like what he was about to enter would ever work. Rahkah was about to demand of them to just kill him now and spare him the trouble, when he perceived that they had left him there all alone to deal with this unaccompanied. He sighed, squared his shoulders, and crossed the threshold with a rehabilitated self-reliance.

The first thing that he saw was that this was, undeniably, a very nice place and that the owner had a good taste in the ornamentation of a space.

Smooth rock covered the original dirt floor that everyone else was accustomed to. The walls were adorned with materials ranging from shades of red to an obsidian color. The only light was from a few candles scattered around the room, some on a small table, and others mounted on the wall. That was basically all the filled the area, until Rahkah distinguished something quite peculiar sitting on one of the tables. It was a white flower, a kind he had never seen before, placed there on an angle. It contrasted the dismal atmosphere significantly, and he felt unsure when he picked it up and studied it closely. It was bell shaped, with all the petals perfectly in line with the one next to it. The stem was in tact, and it looked like it had just been collected; from where, he couldn't tell.

"Who are you?"

A soft voice reached his ears before the fact that he was in someone else's house registered in his brain. Rahkah, being cautious not to give the wrong impression, said evenly, "I am N'jaere viir Rahkah. I was assigned to assist you by your uncle."

He turned his head to look at the female who had inquired of him, and was shocked to see a fully adult woman standing with her back to the wall, observing what he was doing with crossed arms. From the looks of it, she was in her early thirties, still young, but not a juvenile. She had hair with a mixed color of black and brown---very unusual for someone from the main land, assuming that she was---that was split into two parts and pulled back up the middle of her head, with the rest hanging free around her shoulders. She wore a formfitting top, light green in color, that stopped halfway down her abdomen, and a long brown skirt that fell completely to the floor. Her face was not as rough as most females, and harbored traces of a more human resemblance, much like one Rahkah once made the acquaintance of many years ago. Along with this, even without moving, she had a sense of grace to her. It was quite unusual to find a Kaleesh like this.

He stood there dumbly, hesitant as to what he should say to her...until she spoke first.

"You will do just fine..." She said, her voice still as calm as the dead. "My name...is Saiyid."

*-*-*-*-*-*

***Gasp*! What is to come for Rahkah? And who is this mysterious new character who may or may not have an impact on his life!? Do **_**I**_** even know!? All these things and more will be revealed in the next chapter...or will they...?**

**Anyways...Grievous will definitely show up in the next one, creating beastly mass havoc among the Republic base on the unnamed world!! Until then, review for me and you'll be my best friend. **


	33. Apocalypse

**Woot! I didn't die! Though...with all the administrational turmoil, I'm quite surprised. Therefore, for the long wait, I made the chapter extra long!**

**First of all, thanks to the one anonymous girl\guy who reviewed! You get the satisfaction of being at the top of my list of awesome people, mysterious-unknown-individual-with-a-very-fun-anonymous-name-to-say. When my father brought home the paper with your review on it after months of no feedback, I was **_**exceedingly **_**happy! You were the reason I decided to continue this. That's right folks, I was tempted several times to give up because no one was reviewing...But now I have returned, and hopefully will have another chapter up within the next month sometime if school stuff permits.**

**Anyway...**

**Mistah G. has returned to you at last, with much more violence--detailed so much so that I now dub thee, chapter 33, my most graphic one so far--fighting and probable carnage in store for all you beastly unknown readers. Special thanks to an amazingly-amazing author (he's a big-time guy, not someone from this site) whose wonderfully dark works of literature have inspired a scene of this chapter involving a particular method of torture I have been greatly anticipating! Also, there is a semi-lengthy section with the original ARC trooper that I introduced back in chapter thirty. I liked him and had to put him back in--but him and his little group are a bit cowardly. I know! It's a terrible thing to do to a clone, but it fit with the mood...**

_**If your reading this and like it, please review, because I tend to write\update a whole heck of a lot faster if I'm motivated by reviewers. So! If you want more of this fic, I'll need more comments to encourage me!! Thanks! I vwill be vwaiting...**_

**Chapter 33~Apocalypse**

What Grievous had anticipated to being only a few short days had turned into weeks of interminable attacks from both sides. He would've naturally been quite satisfied with the arrangement, if it were not Ventress's constant gnawing at his accomplishments until they weren't but small, everyday happenings. Most of the time, the woman was a great help with "communication" on the part of the natives, who were still under the impression that Grievous was some sort of demon-eyed foreigner that would slaughter them all when he had gotten what he sought. To an extent, they were right, because any other time he would have, purely because the thought of massacring the little creatures entertained him greatly. But, he was getting enough of that with the constant Republic assaults, and he was absolutely loving it. His duranium shell was covered with more than _dirt_, to prove it, and he overbearingly refused to take any measures to clean it off either.

Count Dooku's equally trying complaints about his tactic also made him terribly temperamental, which started the whole affair with the death of a native, and the slew of protesting half-pints that plagued him afterwards. Of course Ventress was happy to help them harass him, and nearly got herself executed _again_. Everyone's nagging made the general wonder..._Why were people treating him like a mental case_? Maybe it was all his imagination, but why would someone of his intellectual aptitude think something was up when it really wasn't? His keen senses of others emotions had never failed him before, so he could only assume the worst about those who looked at him too long or too starkly. It was at times like those that a blackness like no other settled around in the confines of his cruel heart, and the indignant feelings that he kept caged were all but released for all to see. As hatred made way for violence, he would be obligated to stop himself from demolishing everything around him. Words could not and would never describe the mixed up, twisted things that went on in his head when he was like this, and even so, he wanted some answers for once. No question would be indulged correctly. No mystery was resolved. The cyborg needed _some_ sort of leeway when it came to his own self and existence! Days would go by; slow, uneventful days when he could get a chance to think, and all he could do to escape was lock himself in the provided accommodations with extra guards by the door. Yes, it was a deplorable crime for a tyrant like himself to commit--to shut out his troops for his own selfish gain, but the effort reaped conciliatory rewards when it all came down to it.

On one of these days, he sat in his usual spot within the small house-like building, which was the farthest possible place away from the single window, and at an angle where _they_--applying to any menaces who thought that disturbing him was a bright idea--couldn't see him. He stayed alert, nonetheless, although not to his usual extent. Not able to deem himself weary from any bodily sensitivity, Grievous resorted to making his own decisions most of the time: whether to allow his senses to go adrift for a short time, therefore becoming oblivious to whatever happened around him, or to simply do what he was carrying out as the concept hit him. Most of the time he was attentive; rarely did his tactic-formulating mind go entirely blank. As his eyes roamed over the wall across from him aimlessly, he went over the latest reports he had been given again in his head, altering his own retaliative attacks so that there would be no feasible way that it would backfire. There _wasn't_ room for failure, so he would make sure he maintained control and prevented further desolation among the droids. Then, and only then, would he gain the praise of his upper powers...and show the count's ignorant pupil that he was worth more then she bargained for.

Suddenly, the door opened slightly, and a thin tendril of light spanned across the floor. The figure of one of Grievous's sentinels appeared, and said a very silent, "The Republic troops are on the move. Orders sir?"

Turning his head back to the way he had it before, his eyes flashed maliciously. He knew this would be coming, just not the specific time or day. Hesitantly, he rose to his feet, grasping his hands behind his back with authority, albeit the visible uncertainty written across his stance. The droid guard waited, its mechanical parts whirring with every reallocation. Grievous approached it slowly, his talons splintering the fragile wood floorboards with every step. His cloak, deep colored in contrast to his own body, trailed along behind him owing to his arched carriage, and as it was programmed to, the bodyguard didn't move an inch. The general stopped in front of it, and tilted his head expectantly.

"What are you waiting for, then? Go and fetch Count Dooku's novice. I have need of her." He told the droid.

It left him standing just inside the building without question.

_Just like a droid..._

*-*-*-*-*-*

Previous ideals were not forgotten, they just were momentarily compromised on Rahkah's part. It had been just a little over three weeks since he had been introduced to the calmly mysterious woman, and he _still_ didn't know a thing about her, except her name, and her age, which was nearly thirty-five. Every day, he would have to remain by her side constantly, and she in turn would briefly acknowledge that he existed, but that would be all. Over twenty days of silence was beginning to get to him. How he would try to get some conversation started! But no matter how much he put forth an effort, he continually got one-word answers. It frustrated him, but like most things, he learned to ignore it. He wanted to know why in the gods' name he had even agreed to this outlandish persecution.

On the morning of the morning of the twenty fifth day, he reported to his usual place by her door, and resumed his usual position of crossing his arms and supporting his weight against the wall. He began to wonder where Yeiro was, and how he was faring. If none of this had happened, he would have found the kid and explained it all, and therefore undone all his recent sins. Rahkah sighed when the object of protection failed to exit her quarters on the usual schedule...which was when a crafty idea filled his mind on the spot. Such things happened a lot, and the spontaneous phenomenon struck him with a perfection that he was positive would acquire what he wanted most: freedom. Hopefully nothing would happen unexpectedly to hinder it.

When Tsaiyid finally walked out, she had a creatively designed bag in her hand, and, astonishingly, a smile on her face. She wore practically all light colors, and a bizarre looking necklace with a green stone on the end. "I have a feeling it will be a nice day today." She said casually, looking strait as him as opposed to what she usually did. "I am going out, and am in a state of mind to give you a respite...should you wish for one?"

Rahkah, rather surprised that she had even taken the time to say those words to him, tried to be as polite as was possible for him. "That'd be nice."

She nodded in agreement and sauntered on her way down the hall. He watched her directly, eyes narrowed suspiciously. What kind of devilry was this?! Why would someone who refused to talk to him in typical circumstances turn nice in a time period of one day? It was impossible, and Rahkah had the first-hand experience to prove it too. No one could change their ways over night unless they had an ulterior motive behind it, which was what this probably was. The question was: what did she want, and how was he supposed to know what measures to take to evade mishaps on his part? There _was_ the small chance that he was over exaggerating; that she was just offering compassion to an otherwise hopeless man. No one was _that_ dense. Anyone with eyes could tell that Rahkah was too far down his worldly road to care what they thought of him. Half of his life was over for the ancestors' sake! Couldn't they just leave him in peace, knowing that he would someday just keel over and die from internal problems?! Tsaiyid obviously wasn't enlightened on all the horrible, condemning actions his poor sense of self-discipline had prompted him to do...but maybe that was for the better. He had to know what was going on before paranoia set in.

"Excuse me." He spoke up. Tsaiyid whipped around like he had shot her in the back, face reverted to its normal blank expression. They stared at each other, and for a tense moment, Rahkah had memories of when he was first starting out as a young soldier. Back then; _way_ back then, he was an unsure boy with a problem talking to people, especially people of high class like this one. Then things completely went down hill, but he quickly silenced those pesky recollections. "What am I supposed to do? I don't think that it would go well if people found me 'out and about' alone."

She looked like she was trying to stifle a laugh. "Would you like to come with me, N'jaere?" The question was posed with a trace of youthful pity. Where her good mood had come from was unknown, but he definitely preferred this over complete ignorance. Besides, this was all working to his advantage...

Not knowing whether to be repulsed at this, or happy that he wasn't being called "General", Rahkah swallowed slowly and replied, "Am I still allowed a break if I say yes?"

"But of course. You deserve it." She went on her way, and Rahkah took that as a sign to follow.

Hopefully this unprompted niceness thing wasn't 'catchy'...

*-*-*-*-*-*

With confidence, General Grievous walked through the droid base just before dusk, without his guards, who were securing the perimeter under his own orders. Watchers had said that a line of AT-TE's and a sizable clone division was coming gradually by six-point-five miles, so there wasn't as much time as the cyborg would have liked to have. It would be a night battle, that much was sure. After briefing Ventress on what was happening, and gaining her full conformity for a rare instance, he had spoken to one of the main droid captains in vain attempt to make it understand that the separate regiments were to be placed in a specific order according to their range of expertise. As if the little machine understood true military methods...the thing couldn't even hold a blaster right half the time! The captain had nodded as if it actually comprehended what Grievous was telling it, but as soon as it turned to leave and go about its business, he heard it telling another one of its subordinates--if the equally pathetic robot could be called that--to continue on with the plans that had been pre-programmed into it. Such programming was not subject to change, no matter how scary the commanding officer was.

After all this, Grievous was quite pleased when everything started to fall into place. He took the reigns again, yelling orders wherever was needed. Ventress even lend a hand in controlling the native people and their over-all annoying nature for the time being, realizing as well as anyone sentient the importance of preparative dealings. Without access to an aerial assault, Grievous had sullenly confirmed the odds of success with no backing troops, and found the results being highly subject to change, with any luck. There was always, of course, the popular approach of simply outflanking the enemy armies, but from what he was told, the probability of _that_ working were even less then the regular head-on attack. Anyway, even with his mind, he could never figure out how to get all the droids around such a wide procession of clones and war machines. Impossible? No, not with the proper time and resources. But a lost cause at the moment? Yes, incontestably. And so outmaneuvering was out of the question...for the horde of senseless pieces of scrap metal. When devising his fruitless plan, Grievous had overlooked the small possibility that someone like him could take in the Republic drove himself from the back, while the droids gunned them down from directly in front. Whether this would actually go as he wanted was entirely up to the separate leaders of the contingents; whether or not they justly understood the orders he gave them.

Pointless, though is was, the cyborg general's mind was momentarily distracted in consistent intervals. For the last week or so, he had been wondering how he would address everyone back on his ship when he once more returned to it. The ineffectual droids were one thing, but when it came to those certain few who were living, breathing persons, he had to deal dominance with the utmost ascendancy. And when it came to Athela, the Kaleesh prisoner who was caught up in a web of intricate lies, he was as clueless as a small child with a blaster. Not to say that he didn't have everything under control, but with one so difficult to read, he couldn't be entirely sure about any violent underhanded intentions she could have at any time. This was exactly why he eliminated the thought of it; why these alarmingly genuine notions would be the death of him if he did not devote more time to military tribulations.

While he instructed a allegedly "newer" and "smarter" model of battle droid, Asajj Ventress promenaded up to him and waited for him to finish--a feat for someone who lacked patience. When the droid seemed to have absorbed what he had tried so greatly to get through its little metallic skull, she spoke in a low tone, so that nothing around them could hear what she had to tell him.

"There is something you should see." She said with honest concern. Motioning for him to follow, he complied, although he wouldn't have any other day. Ventress lead him to the edge of the transient base, where he had a good view of everything for a good few miles. He didn't notice anything out of the ordinary until his eyes stumbled upon an outline against the darkening horizon. After it appeared a few more of the same shaped silhouettes, and he looked to the Rattataki for an explanation. She smirked. "I supposed _you_ would _know_." There was that mockery again. "From scans we determined that the biologic composition of each of them--there are five--is precisely identical. You know what that means, _don't you_?"

"Clones." Grievous growled. "Have we made contact with them?"

"No. They wouldn't respond when we tried. I have a feeling that they want to _negotiate_."

"Is that so...Well then, they very well can, but I find the concept of such negotiations rather challenging when they are in unbearable pain." Ventress chuckled, seemingly amused by cruel beliefs. He turned to her, ordering, "Speak to the native species, and tell them to arrange something for me. I need two posts in the ground, side by side, and just far enough apart for a standard human to fit between with their arms spread out. I will arrange the rest, but I am not finished with you completely."

She looked suspicious. "What are you planning? A _flogging_ or something?"

"_Or something_. Hurry up!"

She rushed off to assemble what he had asked without further question.

*-*-*-*-*-*

The five clones were under special orders. They were lead by A-390, the commando who had been in charge of retrieving the dead Jedi master's body weeks ago. Since then, Namashi's equal, Volcom Micao, had regained consciousness, but with a price: he was blind in one eye with a permanently scarred face. He accepted these facts much harder then was anticipated, still mourning the loss of his friend. The clone called Nez hadn't had much to do with it; he wasn't skilled in the art of consolation, being so prone to indifference at the times he was on duty. While Micao was getting over the horrors he had seen and gone through personally, Nez had been planning what to do about the Separatist armies--he wouldn't let the planet fall that easily. _Forget the deal_...He would think. And to the day when he was ordered to begin the long trek away from the rest of the slowly moving forces to bargain with the enemy, he continued to use the thought as motivation. The four other clones behind him: Thorn, Jaga, Vick, and his previous underling Corf, seemed unsure. He could tell by the way they moved their arms when they walked. Encouragement was but a shadow of what he could do, in the sense that he _wouldn't_ offer more then a firm few words telling them to keep up. Nez wasn't cruel, in fact he was a quite good-natured clone with an outrageous sense of humor, but when on the job, he was the picture-perfect representation of what someone in his position should be like. So what if he wasn't serving under General Skywalker's famed legion, or had a leader whose mind worked like General Kenobi's, but he felt content to be in the position he was in. _That_ was what the big names looked for. Maybe this job would get him noticed. Heck, if this wild plan succeeded, the other guys would be promoted for certain. With any luck they wouldn't freak out and screw this up. They weren't _complete_ beginners, but they sure seemed like it...

Nez stopped, and the other four did so in suit. The ARC removed his helmet and looked over his shoulder at the troopers, who had copied his action and doffed their helmets as well, supporting their ever-present firearms on their right shoulders. He looked at each of their faces, distinguishing the differences between them. Vick, the eldest by a year or so, had distinct symbols shaved into his short hair and a harder set disposition then the rest. He also had a small diamond shaped goatee on his chin--another reminder of his seniority. Thorn had supposedly had a broken jaw in the past, and from lack of proper treatment soon enough, his face was uneven, with the right side slack compared to the left. Jaga's bald scalp was covered in black tattoos that wound down his neck over his shoulders and spiraled around his arms, covered at the present by his armor. Then, there was Corf, who was just a plain, stereotype of what a typical clone looked like. He had no tattoos, or battle scars, or even a fancy haircut. He was just trooper CT-45\429: inventory keeper. Nothing more. Nothing less. As Nez eyed them, he wondered if they were evaluating him as well. It wasn't like he worked with them on a regular basis. The only one he had ever seen before was Corf, whose impression of him probably wasn't the greatest in the galaxy.

"Okay, men. Your attention, if you please." Nez said somewhat strangely, holding his helmet down at his side imposingly. His expression hardened. "You all know what our new commander told us to do. You four were chosen because you proved yourselves to be admirable soldiers on your last missions. I surely hope that you will continue to prove that today, because what you will unquestionably encounter in the Sep camp is your worst nightmare. I don't know who or what we're up against when I say that, so let's just hope that at least one of you survives to report. And you had _better_ hope I don't catch you slackin'! Any questions?"

"Um...sir," Thorn began to inquire in a faintly slurred voice due to his facial injury. "What if we all die? There'll be no one to testify the existence of General Namashi's killer."

Nez had to chuckle as he secured his helmet on his head again. "Then we all die and the murderer will remain unknown. I don't want you thinking about what _might_ happen. Live in the moment and the moment only, trooper."

"Yes, sir." They all said in unison as if all answering for Thorn's question.

Satisfied, Nez motioned for them to move out, with every intention of keeping the belief in his own words alive in his mind, even though he wasn't positive he could. The sun set behind the five in a brilliant display of red, and the clouds created black outlines upon the darkening sky. It was a sign, Nez observed. It foretold the blood that would be shed, but only _he _seemed to notice. The others talked amongst themselves to pass time, and to ease their nerves. It was hard to tell that they were recognized soldiers from individual missions. Nez could only press on, anticipating the confrontation that might never come.

*-*-*-*-*-*

It was dark before the five clones were apprehended just outside the Confederacy's base. Little did they know what fate they would soon meet in the hands of a cyborg's uncontrollable bloodlust. Everything was in place, and now all that was needed was a proper introduction before Grievous put into action an evil unlike any that his mind had ever calculated. He wanted the soldiers' blood more then anything else, and it was his to take. Why shouldn't he have his fill of sadism at the expense of the enemy? It was preordained before he was even born a mortal, that within a brutal planet plagued by the cries of war and the fires of the dead a destroyer would arise to annihilate opposing forces. Grievous had done only what the gods had destined him to do. The small presence in the back of his head was all that was left, and now he slaughtered with blind hatred; with nothing to induce his rage except what little he knew. The Republic had to die--from every clone to Jedi. From the oldest of men to the smallest of children; they all were the objects of his complete abhorrence, and the example he was about to make would show them all...

The cloak he donned was black and colorless. It wrapped around his skeletal frame and made his eyes look more animalistic than they already did. He walked out into the night with all of his Magnaguards in perfect configuration following his threatening form. No regular droids of any kind were present; they had gathered like flies to the center of the base, awaiting his arrival, precisely on time of course. He couldn't be late for this engagement, no matter what came up. In his desire for agony he was fully prepared to deny even Count Dooku's final orders before battle. This would _be_ his final action, anything else would be anticlimactic if what he wanted so dreadfully went according to plan. Ahead of him appeared a luminance, promising his pending achievement. When at last he neared close enough to distinguish the separate life forms, the first thing his eyes landed on was the structure that he had envisioned.

There stood the two posts. They were both over seven feet high, and sited deep in the dirt below. Wrapped around them were fragments of dead grass from the infinite plains, which went all the way to the top. Attached by unyielding metal rings were four thick chains, two near the top, and two nearly at ground level. These were also covered in the grasses, to later serve a specific purpose. In front of the spectacle was a fire, quiet a strange thing to find in a base full of machines, but it fit right into place. Grievous stopped just before entering into the light, and his bodyguards went ahead of him to take their places around the border of the mass of droids. He watched a moment as two of his spare guards brought forth the five clones they had intercepted. Their leader was dragged in, under orders, and his hands hung limp as they hauled him by his wrists. The other four were in good enough condition. Grievous had heard that they refused to fight back, which very much brought disbelief to him. So, why then, did they wish to come to their death? Could it be, that perhaps there were traitors behind Republic lines? He would find out in time, but first he was going to play.

He emerged from the darkness, and the droids parted for him. Stalking up the pathway they made for him, he couldn't suppress a chuckle, which caught the attention of one of the clones before him. The rest looked at him with terror written on their un-helmeted faces, and from the ground where they had dropped him, the leader took one glance at him and sneered. Grievous cocked his head at this, unsure as to what about him had inspired the sudden display of cynicism. The four other clones stepped back, seemingly appalled at the appearance of what stood before them. One, an unadorned one quivered. So they had never been faced with a confrontation with a Separatist leader then? This would be fun. Fun indeed. If these little tyros were as inexperienced as they gave the impression of, it would be terribly easy to strip them of their sanity. He took a step in their direction, and the one who was shuddering flinched. The ones who hid their fear better--consisting of one Grievous found particularly interesting with more black markings on his head than Ventress--just stared at him, irresolute on what to do. The leader got to his feet at last and matched Grievous, taking a step towards the cyborg in vain attempt to signify his authority. Standing a good foot and a half or so taller then the Mandalorian, Grievous gave him a look that said '_Oh really now_' and leaned down to the clone's level of vision.

"So..." He began, hardly containing his animosity. The prisoner looked him strait in the eye with no trepidation. "What brings you to our humble establishment? If I may be so bold." A hint of derision entered in at the last part.

"Don't tell 'im anything, Nez!" Called one of his charges; the one with the tattoos. "We got what we wanted!"

Grievous lost all interest in the leader and swept up to the one who had spoken, getting right in his face. "What was that, _soldier_?" He hissed. The victim of his wrath crumbled, shaking his head rapidly to let Grievous know that he wouldn't speak anymore. But the general wouldn't have any of it. "What did you _want_?" He hadn't raised his voice yet, but instead kept it soft enough to produce a spine-chilling effect.

Nothing.

Grievous pulled back, and suddenly snarled, "If none of you will talk, I will kill the rat!"

Still, nothing.

Shrugging, the cyborg turned his head to the two bodyguards. "Kill it." He told them casually. The one droid acted immediately even before the clone could, using the middle of its electrostaff to pin the quarry against it by the throat, while the other moved in to carry out its master's command. The target swore and writhed, trying to get away; crying to his brothers to come to his aid. Metal hands reached out to the clone's head, just about to deliver the killing motion, when an abrupt voice pierced the tense silence.

"No! W-wait!" It came from the plain one. The droid looked to Grievous, who simply held up an arm and kept his fingers open in a signal to pause.

"Corf...don't!" The leader said in a sharp, panicked tone. "We did not come here to tell them--"

Grievous growled and backhanded him across the face to silence him, afterward turning his full attention to the nervous trooper. "I knew you would see it my way. Now, tell me, what was your objective in this?"

"It was--it was orders. I was dragged into this as much as Jaga. We-we're fresh recruits...this is only our second mission. When we came here we had no idea that--well, what would happen to our General..." He took a deep breath. "We came here...to find out who murdered him...And we found you."

So that was it then. The scum had come looking for Namashi's eradicator, and had found Grievous. _How...very interesting..._

"I see." Grievous drawled, his eyes flicking to the one called Jaga and back to the little coward. "For this"--he spoke carefully, adding in just the right amount of benevolence to keep the clone in his right mind until the right time came to submerse his voice into darkness--"I will make sure to _kill you last_." Without looking at his two guards and the soldier they held, he raised his hand again...

...and closed his fingers.

It happened so quickly that the four living ones barely had time to look away.

Jaga slumped to the ground with his neck twisted grotesquely. Grievous swung around to the horde of droids, and said, "You know what to do..."

The whole gathering of machines moved forward to the leader, Nez, as it were. When he become conscious of the fact that they were singling him out above his men, it riled him. Without weapons, he had no defense against them except his own two hands and feet. He began nailing droids in the legs, tripping them up, and ripping their heads off from the top. But they were not to strike back, they were just to keep moving in closer to him as a whole. For every one Nez killed, there was another to take its place, and he was presently overwhelmed before the three clones in his company could act in his defense. With his only means of resistance disabled by at least four droids holding each arm and leg, he hung over the ground helplessly, and one of the more intelligent bodyguards removed his armor by crushing the sections in the shoulders that held the white shell in place. All the while he thrashed and fought like the intrepid soldier his was. Oh well...Grievous gave him points for trying, though it was useless. The brutal process lasted until the pliable black fabric, serving as a type of second skin, was shred by all the metallic fingers from the dozens of droids surrounding the general's prey. During all this, Grievous stood by and watched sadistically. The clone was heaving for breath by the time the course of action was through; he appeared to be finished with his struggling, but one could never underestimate these fighters. When all but the ones inhibiting his escape were left standing there, and Nez was vulnerable from the waist up, Grievous approached him, and extended an arm. Nez jerked into spasms at the cold touch to his neck, directly on the jugular vein. The cyborg watched as a flicker of alarm traveled across his face.

Grievous looked at him with malice. "If I were to kill you that way," he said quietly, "all this would have been in vain. You will die slowly, and I will savor your cries of pain." Promptly, another Magnaguard materialized from the throng of its lesser brethren, expecting instruction. Grievous acknowledged it. "Carry on." He said casually, like this was an every day thing.

While the battle droids kept holding Nez's legs, the bigger droid took both of his arms at once, withstanding all the physical exertion from the man, and started to the two posts. The clone was then forced up onto a high platform-like object, where his wrists were fastened with the constricting chains, and then his ankles. And he never gave up fighting off his opposers, not until they were too far away from him to do any harm. After he was secured in an uncomfortable position, stretched out between the posts, the platform that the very heels of his feet were resting on was taken away, and he was left suspended in mid-air. Curses flowed from his mouth like water--he was entirely enraged and humiliated. His charges were jostled in front of the fire, between them and their leader. They would watch him die, then perish themselves. _Perfect_...

Grievous strode almost nonchalantly over and stood before Nez, his cloak beginning to bluster around him in the wind that had just come up. Smoke swirled around the area in eerie silence; Nez coughed. Turning his body ever so slightly, Grievous bent down and wrapped his fingers around a piece of the firewood, which he had not beheld since his re-embodiment. Flames licked his hand, but had not effect on him. Slowly--insufferably, he met the gaze of the soldier, and somehow, Nez knew what was about to happen. The clone shook his head, his lips parted into a manifestation of shock and he leaned forward as much as his bindings would allow, saying in a dissonant voice, "You're mad...You honestly think that torture will make me talk...?"

Grievous made an eye motion that expressed his amusement, adding a slight head tilt to accompany it. "Such an aphorism." He scoffed, advancing on his coming kill. "No, none of that. You see, being the way I am, I often grow restless, and since mortality evades my grasp, I have only the options that lack of transience allows. I find elation in this..."

Nez scowled, bracing himself and said through his teeth, "I know you do."

"Scream for me, _cherished warrior of the Republic_..."

When the crushing impact of the sharp, blazing wood made contact with the clone, it was all he could do to keep from crying out. The scent of burning skin filled the air, and though Grievous couldn't tell, he knew it to be so. Humans burned so easily. He stared at the spot on Nez's torso, and when he pulled away, there was a black hole burned into the exact center of his chest. The sternum was showing from where the flames had devastated the covering flesh. Nez had been holding back the performance that Grievous had asked for the entire time, and let his breath go in gasps, wincing. From the other side of the fire, his men were being forced to see, with their head unable to turn away under the powerful hands of Grievous's guards. If they tried to close their eyes, they would be punched in the face by metal that could rip them apart. Such a shame; their minds would be so disturbed when at last their dying time came, they would offer no fight back and die like the dumb animals they were. Grievous let Nez go for only a minute, before, once more touching the make-shift torch to him again, on his abdomen this time. The mortal didn't suppress himself, and his mouth opened rigidly in a deep, agonizing scream; his fingers spread open tightly, and he lashed around in desperation. Grievous laughed darkly, his whole body racking from it. By the time Nez was free again from the tormenting heat, he looked to be bordering unconsciousness. Grievous took advantage of this.

"Are we enjoying this light form of punishment?" He mocked, circling around where the clone hung. Of course there was no reply, as was expected, but the general was too far in his bloodlust to care. "No? Why?" He slashed at Nez's back, leaving behind six bloody gashes. The clone writhed--his neck snapped back when Grievous made a second move, creating an 'X' shape, not entirely without reason either. "Perhaps you are not thankful enough that this is all I have done to you." Without prior expectation, the talons in his left foot locked around one of the victim's ankles from behind, and jerked the limb upward with such force that it snapped instantaneously. Then, he did the same to the other. This way, if he somehow hung on long enough to be cut down, he couldn't get up and walk away. It was a..._necessary_ precaution. "Perhaps you need a small taste of what _could_ happen..."

Grievous came to a stop in front of the trooper again, reached out, and near carelessly pressed his fingers into the very spot he had just finished charring. The black-red section of skin began seeping blood, and Nez, very close to fainting, growled something in his own language. Bit by bit, Grievous intensified the pressure in his hand he exerted into the wound, and slowly, the amount of blood grew substantial, until a small pool had formed under the motionless commando. Grievous still held the piece of wood, whose flames had died down from their original conflagrational significance, and when he had withdrawn from his infliction, blood ran all the way down around the elaborate pieces of his arm. When he had decided he had caused enough internal damage, he had taken his hand away with his fingers hooked in different directions, instigating even more misery for the object of his wrath. All the while, inside, that subconscious, monstrous feeling had seethed like a dormant volcano, and now, at the summit of his torturous endeavor, Grievous could at last identify what it was. The will was just too strong. He could not control his own insane antagonism, and in a way, the recognition gave him all the more reason to unleash it. Unlike the Force using people of the galaxy, he didn't have any lower to sink. He was a class of his own; one who did not shun anger, but instead found union with it.

Triumphantly, doing exactly that, he mustered all the strength needed, brought his arm back, and thrust the weapon--if it was being used for such a purpose it had to be--directly into the clone's heart. Close enough to see the individual drops of sweat form on Nez's face, Grievous glared at him, and he, back. In that moment, they both seemed to garner a bit of understanding from one another. For the cyborg, it was the desolate look he received, generating the ominous sensation that reminded Grievous of his own past. There was something in the dying one's brown eyes, something that no one had offered to him since...never. And that something was compassion.

For Nez, his killer's mask became something more then just a simple thing of intimidation, but rather a way of concealing a face, cast in cruelty by the unfeeling ways of the Separatists. It was this pitiful creature that was the victim, not Nez.

Grievous slowly backed away, leaving the sharp piece of wood protruding from the soldier's chest. Nez was able to hold his head up only a moment more, before it rolled forward, indicating that he was dead. The man's appearance was devastating, to say the least. While standing there, he was oblivious to those around him, and he couldn't move. The sight he stared at was abysmal enough to do that to him. "Destroy the evidence." He told anyone without turning around.

Two battle droids came up on each side of the posts, with a proper torch in hand, and set alight the dry, dead grass that was tied thickly around the lean pillars. When the blaze reached the chains, it spiraled down them straight away, for they were covered with the same kindling. The fire found the dead body quick enough, and began devouring it. With a small mock salute, Grievous took his exit, passing beside the three undamaged onlookers, who were probably too traumatized to even react to him now. He did nothing, and remained in a steady gait to what he hoped would be his improvised quarters. That is, he would have, but seeing as it always happened to him lately, some lousy individual had to address him. At first, he thought that it would be a good idea to decapitate the one who spoke to make an example of his terrible disposition, but then recognized it as the familiar dialect of his Magnaguards. The gray colored droids holding the living clones had gained his attention yet again without turning into a pile of scrap metal.

"Yes...?" Grievous questioned from a distance. The large fire from the body in the background caught his interest.

"Scanners report that the enemy troops are very near, General. If they come here and find these three, your orders of secrecy will be ruined." The naturally quiet voice was even quieter then normal. "What do you want us to do with them?"

Grievous took up one of his lightsabers, and in one swift movement had eliminated two of the mortals, leaving the clone who had given him info in the very beginning. He cowered. "I told you I would kill you last."

The third cadaver thumped to the ground alongside his brothers. Such a swift end to men who had been around longer than their commander...

"There. Now you do not have to do anything." The general told them, placing one foot on the closest dead soldier's head. "Burn them too."

The instant the words had escaped his vocabulator, a screeching sound filled the air, followed by a deafeningly loud explosion. Grievous was immediately on the alert, straitening up and looking back and forth like a hunted being. The blast was the first of many that came subsequently, unswervingly into the base. Thick, black smoke rose all around him, and all at once was he separated from his guards, who had disappeared the minute the first discharge had reeked its ugly havoc upon the troops. Snarling, he ran forward, towards the burning carcass illuminating the inky blackness around him. Detaching his arms hurriedly when he reached the remains, he took a chain in each hand, and wrenched backward in attempt to get the scorched mess down before the Republic breached the perimeter. When, for a split second, he glanced to the side, he saw what he thought were the distant silhouettes of his mechanical subordinates racing past, but that was all. Concentrating all his energy on breaking the heavy bindings, he leaned back against the weight of the impenetrable force, his talons digging firmly into the bloodied dirt under him. When at length the rings holding the chains to the posts subsided and bent, eventually snapping, it was all the cyborg could do to keep from tumbling to the ground gracelessly. The burnt corpse dropped to the fore, and Grievous unceremoniously dragged it by one chain over to the steady fire and dropped it on, heaping the burning coals over it as much as possible to faster disintegrate the evidence. Connecting his arms back together, he stood tall and scanned the area for anyone that he might pull aside. No sooner had he done this did the noise of gunfire hit him.

He listened carefully, and determined the way to go. Taking off in that direction, he shed his cloak and readied the same lightsaber he had just used to kill his hostages. It was impossible to see anything more than twenty feet in front of him, complicating matters a hundred times more then he had ever anticipated. All he had to rely on was his keen sense of hearing to guide him. Another explosion shook the ground, very near to him. He came into the company of all types of droids, running beside and past them. If they moved too slowly for him, he swatted them out of his way. Out of the blue, he arrived at one of the stations, still fully operational and alive with frantic battle droids working at the computers. Jumping over one of the small partitions, Grievous landed in the middle of the teaming mass of automatons just in time to miss a small detonation where he had previously been standing. Surveying the damage, he noted that a panel had been shattered, but nothing serious had happened to the wiring underneath. Such a minor impairment was the work of an entity in the grenade family, meaning only one thing: the enemy was close; very close. Grabbing one droid who was in front of the scanner readings, Grievous threw it aside and bent down over the screen. Life forms were, indeed close.

"Keep watch on those screens! Protect the information!" He shouted at those who were watching him. "Do _not_ let the clones obtain it!"

Their response was the predictable: "Rodger, rodger." That could mean anything!

Grievous ignored the thought and lurked around down the ramp onto the ground. He remained absolutely still, save for his incessantly moving fingers on the hilt of his lightsaber--but that was usual for him. The haze was still profuse, and the blasts just kept ringing out. In his head, Grievous counted the seconds...

_One, two, three four, five_...

Blaster emission came closer and closer. Droids yelled insane phrases in the obscured void.

_Ten, eleven, twelve..._

The general began to shift from foot to foot, impatient and anxious. Figures were coming; he saw them before they saw him. His heart beat quickened. His short breathing became even shorter. Madness replaced all preceding sanity. The monster growled--a horrible, wicked sound. Disgust filled his fixed gaze, filling his whole being with a refreshed loathing, separating the will from the emotion.

_Twenty six, twenty seven..._

White armor shone through the smoke. Grievous lowered himself to a hostile stance, with his back bent and his head held out strait. He horizontally slanted the arm that held the lightsaber in front of his body, and kept the free one down at his side.

_Twenty eight, twenty nine_...

He waited until he saw the black coverings on their helmets.

_Thirty_.

The monster came to life. A blue lightsaber activated instantly, and together, both the weapon and the cyborg became one. Grievous sliced as many of them as he could, and the rest, he pounded into the ground with his sharp feet. Some, he had to let go. They headed up into the station, where another small battle broke out between them and the droids that Grievous had ordered to protect it. All of a sudden of knew how Nez must have felt when the droids were surrounding him; it happened to him. He had underestimated their numbers, and found himself in the exact middle of the group. The situation reminded him of his trial mission, but unlike then, he couldn't tell how many of them there were. It was a problematical circumstance to be in, but he had a few _ideas_. The concept of "kill them all" was hopeless, but he had to try, for if he didn't, there would be trouble. Revoltingly, he stumbled, overwhelmed, so it seemed, from the troopers. He crashed to the ground on his back, his eyes closed. The lightsaber lay in his hand, and he deactivated it. The clones, wondering what had gone wrong with the mechanical creature, crowded around him closer then they had been. One, holding a grenade, leaned down to inspect the thing.

"How do I check its vital signs, Sarge?" He said to his commanding officer. "It doesn't...it doesn't have a neck."

"Oh, let me see that!" The Sergeant said, kneeling beside his lesser. He looked at the neck, filled with wires and other devices. "Yeah, I guess you're right. That's that then, boys. We'll load it up and take it back to base. I think we just found Ural Namashi's murderer by the looks of it. Micao described it _pretty_ vividly."

They all had to question how the creature just...fell over. It was a strange thing, indeed.

"Sir," one clone said from a computer up on the raised area, now full of droid parts, "you have to come and see this. These Seps are packing a _lot_ of info here."

The Sergeant took one step...

...before the lightsaber lying harmlessly on the ground came to life again.

That poor soul with the grenade kneeling beside Grievous was beheaded before he could even react. The white helmet went flying over and hit one of the bystanders in the leg. The cyborg's right arm slowly reached over and took the small explosive, before he got to his feet. This group of clones were much braver then the cowards Grievous had killed before this battle had started, and so they would die with that satisfaction. Backing up, he all but smirked, and triggered the grenade, tossing it innocently into the midst of his foes. Diving out of the way, he missed being clipped by the succeeding pieces of the fatalities by a foot or so. Without delay, he was up again. He attacked the remaining few who had escaped the fate of their peers, and killed them all, adding to the accumulation of bodies that lay around him. There was only one more thing he needed to take care of before calling for a ship...

The one clone left standing in front of the screen, pilfering the very information that Grievous had informed the droids to protect, _was_ aware of the general's presence, but was too busy absorbing the latest battle plans to pay the killer heed. What a foolish move the man had made, putting himself in the perfect position to come to an unpleasant end, until very smugly, he looked up to the sky once, and then to Grievous. "You're too late." He chuckled. "I contacted a ship as soon as I found this cache of data. I couldn't risk it, you understand."

Grievous's attention was drawn to the skies as well, where, emerging from the overlaying cloud of smoke, was a gunship. It landed only feet from the small outpost, and the cocky soldier quickly went to board, shouting as soon as he had done so, "No hard feelings, big guy!"

With a stifled curse, Grievous hastened as fast as his mechanical legs would carry him around the technical equipment to the ship. It was taking off when he got there, but that wasn't about to stop him. He yelled something incoherent, and jumped. The whole thing was a blur form there. Suddenly he was dangling a hundred feet above the ground, hanging onto the edge of the open-air cabin. Fingers dug into a supposedly hard type of metal amalgamation, struggling to keep the heavy weight underneath from falling. Grievous thrashed about, and finally slammed one foot hard enough into the hull to hold. He tried to swing his other leg up into the place where the passengers were standing, all while being beleaguered by constant blows to the head. The clones were trying to make him fall, obviously. He couldn't let them. He wouldn't. It would betray all that he worked for, in letting go, and probably hurt him in the process. Dooku would be boiling mad, and Sidious would be even more enraged. They would terminate him. He would die deprecatingly, all because he had failed his own cause. Well, that wouldn't happen today...The ground rushed by under him, and as these notions filled his mind, he went on with single minded determination. He _would_ get up there. He would _not_ let go of the edge of that ship, no matter what they did to him. Anchoring his other foot closer to the top then the other, it gave him the perfect leverage to hoist himself--a little clumsily--up onto the flat surface, where he was met by a bunch of stunned clones.

"Which one of you _honorable gentlemen_ is ready to experience the true definition of the words 'hard feelings'?" None of them said anything in response. "No one? Well then..."

He eyed them carefully, and picked out the thief. Lunging at the clone, he shoved him over the other side. Both the trooper and Grievous went plunging to the ground, with Grievous's hands around the clone's throat, and the clone kicking at the cyborg. Through the air they fought, and Grievous somehow managed to keep hold of the opponents throat. The earth below was coming way too fast for comfort, and Grievous thought once more about dying. When they made impact, Grievous used the human as a kind of cushion for his fall, but with a price. The clone was smashed underneath the general, and therefore was rendered useless for any type further physical torture.

Narrowing his eyes, Grievous checked himself for any injuries or dents in his armor, but finding none, he pushed a small button on his wrist and contacted a ship to come pick him up.

At least the battle plans were safe...


	34. Equable Pilosophy

_Ummmmmm...What can I say? I took a bit of a break on this. Now, before you tell me all the months before all my other updates were "breaks", let me clarify that I was_ writing in that point of time, I just had no inspiration and took my time. Plus, I've started working on an original story that I believe will take me somewhere! Kay then. Don't expect this one to be nearly as lengthy as the last, because I only have so much inspiration at this stage. Most of it was used up in the last one! :( But take heart! The climax is coming, whether you are prepared or not!! Along with this, I am proud to announce that I am partially rewriting good ol' chapter 1, to, ya know, suck in more people to this story, so be looking for the newly refurbished first chapter ASAP!

A big thanks to the individual that reviewed! I'm glad people think that I have kept Grievous's character consistent. As always...enjoy or die trying...But review first before you die, okay? 0_0

Chapter 34~The Joys of Equable Philosophy

**Weary, irritated, and in over all disillusionment, Grievous forced himself to get up inside the cabin of his shuttle when it arrived back at his ship. The ramp extended onto the hard, monotonous floor before he had even taken a single step, and unhurriedly, he tried to think rationally about his explanation as he exited. He must have evaluated every way to say it, but by the end, it all came down to the ugly truth: that he had been seen by the Republic before the set time. Over and over, he would reassess those last moments on the planet. When he should have killed all of the clones on the gunship, then getting rid of the pilot and taking control of the craft, he didn't. He let the details get in the way, and sacrificed his remaining secrecy. But then...if the Jedi he had failed to destroy had talked, giving a meticulous description of what had taken the life of his friend, he had been discovered already. It was the perfect excuse! until Grievous recalled that he wasn't one to use such things to get out of trouble. If anything, he would lie full scale, not prevaricate around the issue, and he had no intention of lying about his many accomplishments over the past weeks.**

**Before that, however, he needed to just sit alone and think. As if he hadn't done enough of that already on the long ride back, but the atmosphere of his quarters seemed a far better place to drown in his opinions and ideas. So there was where he headed off to, overlooking all that needed to be done. There was a lot of it too. It was amazing how matters piled up when he was gone only a few days, never mind a few **_**weeks**_**. For now, he would be a procrastinator and deal with it when he was good and ready to. Who knew how long that would be...**

**He felt somewhat better when he saw the familiar doors to his quarters at the end of the hall after exiting the elevator, and with a contented sigh, he started for them, his spirits raised. Hopefully that obnoxious female had remembered to assure that everything was in place; he could just picture Count Dooku rummaging around in his things, maybe even finding his few private items he had hidden. The scene would have been enough to bring Grievous some amusement if it were not for the seriousness of the matter. So the question was: did the trust he bestowed upon Athela pay off in the long run? She was a shifty lot, prone to forgetfulness and intentional disregard. After their last "conversation"--he was still quite goaded about it--he wouldn't have been overly surprised if she'd gone and ripped the place apart...as much as was physically possible, taking into consideration the amount of solid metal in the room. Horrified at the idea, the cyborg input the pass code for the massive doors as rapidly as his fingers would allow, and then took a step out to stand in front of them. What they opened to reveal was his regular 'abode', and it was perfectly in order and outwardly untouched. **_**I do not think that even the Count would sink as low as I assumed...These days though, you never know with people...**_

**Grievous savored the moment of walking slowly over the threshold into the quiet, darkness of the chamber, gazing immediately out the enormous windows at the stars. It was so nice to be back in a recurring environment, even **_**if**_** all the precision got tiresome. Striding over to the keypad directly opposite of the other on the wall, he locked the doors, not willing to have this tranquility ruined by **_**anyone**_**. He moved down the steps onto the lower level, the only sound being his talons clicking against the similarly made tiles. Up until that point, he hadn't bothered looking at the chair he was headed towards, and when he did...**

**His square-shouldered carriage sank at what he saw. **_**Why does this seem to always happen to me**_**...**_**? **_

**As it was, Athela was sitting in it. In point of fact, she wasn't really **_**sitting**_**. More like a mixture of **_**laying**_** and sitting. It was very unsettling, essentially, seeing as her position was open to suggestion. She had her back incompletely on the one armrest, with one arm under her head and the other hanging limply over the edge of the chair. Her left leg was stretched over the other armrest; the right was placed on the floor. She looked like some kind of mannequin, with the unnatural ways she was situated. He then noted that she was asleep, which partially explained it. Grievous got within a few feet of her, pondering how she had got in here in the first place, since the doors had been locked to start with. Could she have possibly learned the codes while he was gone from a droid? She could have very well threatened it--droids were so easily manipulated with the right kind of pressure. Either way, she had to move, whether she liked it or not. **

**Besides, it was Grievous's chair.**

***-*-*-*-*-***

**Most of the time, Athela's dreams weren't exceptionally vivid. They were customarily filled with muddled fractions of anything she had seen in the previous day. But this time, she had a most realistic experience. It started out as many of her dreams began, about her past life back on Kalee. She was talking to someone--she couldn't recall the name--about the weather, and how it was past the time for the wild game to migrate into the area, when unpredictably her adopted son appeared by her side. **_**"When is Father coming home...?"**_** He had asked, his voice echoing around her. The woman she had been conversing with offered a pained expression. The boy didn't know yet that the man he knew to be his father really had no relation to him at all. Athela was about to say something, when yet another voice came from nowhere. **_**"It won't be long now...the changing of the seasons has come, and you, Athela Erihdiy, have little time..." **_**She wondered what that meant, when a tap on her shoulder and a snicker startled her. She whipped around to find the vista she had been in to be gone, replaced with a dark, misty atmosphere. Rocks were everywhere, and in front of her was a door, larger than life and covered with strange markings. Her eyes scanned it, until the same quiet laugh she had heard before ricocheted off all the rocks around her, surrounding her with an eerie refrain. However, there was one small problem: she could not identify it. It was so varying; at one point it was almost automatic, and another it sounded completely genuine. **_**"Do what you know you must with the time you have left..."**_** Suddenly, directly after the voice had come again, something grabbed her from behind, and she lost it. Thrashing about, she felt herself being lifted off the ground, and shouting a curse at her attacker, she whipped her arms behind her head...which stopped her dead. Athela couldn't move. Only her hands did, and with a chilling sensation traveling down her spine, she skimmed her fingers across the cold surface behind her. **

**Whatever was holding her exclaimed in disgust, and Athela's eyes shot open just in time to be dropped onto the hard floor. She landed on her side with a painful thud, and had a close view of the sharp claws clicking past, inches from her face. After a tense second, she breathed a quiet sigh of relief, but then the memory of what the voice had said in the dream she had just been awakened from distracted her from further comprehension. It had told her that she had "little time" left, if that was truly supposed to mean something. When she brought herself back to the present, she mumbled something, and pushed herself up into a sitting position to better see what was happening. The answer was nothing; absolutely nothing. Everything was as it had been when she had first arrived, except that the chair she must have fallen asleep in was facing away from her now...and that General Grievous had come back unannounced. **

**Moving over in front of the indifferent mechanical being, Athela looked up at him intriguingly from the floor, her eyes lively and interested. Absentmindedly supporting herself on one arm, she wondered how exactly she was managing to keep quiet knowing that he probably had a whole shipload of things to talk about concerning the mayhem he had brought about. But yet, he still did not even glance at her once. Was that supposed to mean that it had gone poorly, or that he had prolonged the anger that had caused him to completely end the contact with her via hologram a couple weeks before. Something like this creatures mind was too difficult to understand. Who knew? Maybe resentment hadn't been the sentiment that had produced the abrupt departure after all. Maybe, just maybe, it was some sort of insightful shame triggered by her lack of juvenile behavior. Athela could only hope. If Grievous were to realize that she had begun to change into a more dignified person--she nearly laughed when she first considered the concept--it could do wonders for her treatment-wise. All she had to do was prove it to him, if that were even possible, since he would always turn around good conversation into insults and reprimands. As she studied him, he continued to look on, locking her out, not unlike what he did to all other people considered nuisances to him. **

_**What could be going on in that brain of his...?**_** She speculated, cocking her head in curiosity.**

**"**_**Stop**_** staring at me." His riled voice startled her. He sounded so...**_**dark.**_** "You are far too meddlesome for your own good."**

**Athela averted her attention. "I...I'm sorry. I was just wondering--that is if you're in a divulging state of mind, if you could **_**possibly**_** talk about how the job went?"**

**Grievous didn't turn his head; his eyes watched the stars listlessly. His index finger moved back and forth on the metal armrest, and she focused in on that small stirring. She then assumed that her question would remain unanswered, seeing as his silence typically foretold ignorance. She assumed wrong.**

**"Why must you know?" He drawled, guttural and deep. **

**Athela forced a shrug. "Well, I suppose that my will to know comes from the same basis as your will to kill. It benefits me, I think, understanding how things work out. Does that make sense?" **

**The cyborg responded with a huff. "I do not wish to talk about it..."**

**"Why did something **_**happen**_**?" She smirked devilishly, knowing that it would do no more than irritate him in the long run.**

**Only shifting the direction of his eyes, he gave her a bleak sideways look. His finger stopped moving against the metal surface, and Athela ogled back at him, awareness to maturity temporarily askew. Her wickedly humorous smile only grew when he shook his head like some kind of animal, and went back to ignoring her. Slowly, she lost all senses of wit, and realized that what she had intended as a joke was what had really come about, and that misfortune had found Grievous once more. She suddenly felt bad for him. Why? Athela had no idea. Something was up. Even when he was in a bad mood he wasn't quiet, much less using short, uninformative sentences. He seemed more cryptic than what he normally was, bent on keeping her in the dark as to what happened in the past weeks. **

**"I'm sorry...I didn't know that--" Athela cut herself off, compelled to act on behalf of her apology instead of trying to put her emotions to words. She extended her arm, and placed her hand on the piece of armor that made up the cyborg's shin. When her fingers made contact with the smooth, cold alloy, she immediately noticed that there were many small dents--battle scars that would never go away unless the whole fragment of Grievous's shell was taken away. **

**He didn't react. **

**Athela knew he either had no receptors to feeling, or was simply disregarding her. But then, he turned his head; the intense gaze, radiating power, centered in on her, humbling an egotistical soul. She took in the details of his mask once more; those mind-blowing details that only the most skilled could devise. The way his skin contrasted his irises stood out unmistakably, adding to an effect that could only be described in terms of supremacy. This being was truly a king among machines. **

**"Your mind is still unaware." Grievous said with the wisdom of a mystic. He continued on with his explanation. "All the instruction I have ever received has tested my defenses against power, conflict and pain, making me strong enough to mentally withstand what previously occurred. But you..."--he paused, scrutinizing her with a transformed look--"...you have a talent."**

_**What? **_**She stuttered,**__**"Come again?"**

**Her leaned towards her slightly. Athela had given her full attention to him by that point. "For too long have I wondered what to do with you, Athela Erihdiy...and now I know."**

***-*-*-*-*-***

**Well? What did you think? A good chapter? Was Grievous in character, and do you like the more 'cryptic' side of him? I'll work hard to update if I get at least **_**two**_** reviews! **


	35. Dirty Deeds

_**I'm delighted! You people are so good to me...Thank you so much for reviewing!! Before anything else, I want to make a public apology to a certain reviewer of mine who happened to ask what became of me. I'm sorry if I'm not updating quick enough, but very many things have been coming up lately to hinder my time, and I find that most of the points where I would sit down to type have been taken up by school work, social stuff, and a current lack of inspiration. I promise though, that my updates will come eventually, even if it takes awhile. Thank you for your compliance...and still review if you will. I felt very happy upon getting the last ones! **_

**Chapter 35~Dirty Deeds **

It was almost time. Soon, he would carry out his meticulous plan.

Rahkah wondered into a part of Dau-Maz's old residence that he did not remember, and supposed that it could have been added after the good man's death. He paused at a pedestal that elevated what he recognized as the deceased commander's mask, long since broken in various places, but in surprisingly good condition otherwise. Rahkah extended his arm very slowly, and touched the tips of his fingers to the face of the animal skull. His eyes closed in reverence, and out of his own recollections emerged a memory that he wouldn't have wished on anyone...

*-*-*-*-*-*

_He awoke from a horrible, restless sleep._

_Something wasn't right. His dreams were haunted by a nameless menace; shadows had danced above him. In his head, a voice unlike all other nightmarish creations had screamed at him with the hellish terror of a demon god. N'jaere was used to nightmares, yes, but it was almost like he had been warned of something. Rising from where he lay, he looked around the small house, empty except for what he had brought with him. There was nothing that would have aroused suspicion, even in regular circumstances, but he had a feeling, and even when he was drunk, he never doubted his presentiments. Throwing a cloak around his shoulders, he wrenched open the door, the ominous sensation worsening by the second to a point where he thought he was going to be sick, and rushed to the closest commander's home on legs made suddenly heavy. It was raining torrentially, thunder resounded across the skies, followed by claws of lightning that lit up the entire compound. Breathing vigorously, N'jaere set foot in the miniature building, identical to the one where he, himself was staying, and instantly wished he hadn't._

_All of the sudden, his dreams made sense. The shapes were the assassins, and the voices were their victims...his fellow generals. His friend, his dear friend, only a few years older than he, lie dead, still in the grip of sleep, with his throat slit. Blood covered everything around the departed--the bed, the floor, and his own body. The appalled viewer looked upon what had once been a man so full of life and vivacity for conquest, now a despairing representation of another's hate. Much emotion made the breathing one turn quickly on his heels and retreat, slamming the door behind him, and sliding down onto the ground in a daze. N'jaere was sure that the others had the same fate, but there was one he couldn't overlook. The oldest member of the six, one who had once been like a father to a heartbroken soul, had chosen one of the smaller buildings across the vast courtyard, encircled by dozens of other structures assembled for military purposes. Weakly, he forced himself to get up; it was as if there was a load of rocks upon his back. The rain was unrelenting, and poured down over him. Lightning illuminated the surrounding site again, and his profile was arched over to all who saw him. Step by step he went, fighting the wind. Each time his foot hit the muddied ground it made an impression. A trail of footprints followed N'jaere all the way up to the door of the house, and he wasted no time dwelling on his own dread. He entered, listened for the slightest whisper of a breath. Instead, his ears were greeted with a loud exhale of pain from who he knew to be the one he sought. _

_"Voaga..." He said flatly, his voice deepened in his efforts to keep any emotion out of his voice. The dying man tried to look at him. He tried, but his efforts were futile. Immediately, his godson was at his side, laying a hand gently on the bloodied shoulder. "No...Do not try to move...I'm here, everything is going to be alright." There was no hiding the misery that had escalated in the bleak promise. With fading eyes and an aggrieved smile, Voaga stared at him._

_"They--they c--came only hours ago. I h--had no...idea who they...were until--until it was too late." A sickly gurgling cough wracked his frame; blood trickled out of his mouth afterwards. Voaga reached out, rigidly grasping the other commander's arm. N'jaere gasped, his friends fingers were as cold as ice. "You--have to...you have to f--find the killer...Whatever it takes..."_

"_I will, Father." He choked over his words, not even considering that the man he spoke to was not even his true sire. He never openly expressed his emotions, but at the thought of losing one of his greatest good influences from the time when he was only an adolescent was simply too much to come to terms with. N'jaere's thick dreadlocks fell down over his face as he lowered his head mournfully. "And I swear," he continued with a disguised amount of hatred, "when I find whoever did this to you, I _will_ kill him."_

_Voaga had watched, and his face had softened, losing all traces of abhorrence for his forthcoming murderer. "No...No more, N'jaere...No--no more fighting. This war, must come to an end...Exist--in peace...my son..." _

_The grip on his arm slackened. Voaga's head rolled to the side, his eyes eerily still open. N'jaere shook his head in dismay, checking for a pulse. Voaga couldn't be dead! Who would be there for him when he needed reprimand?! Out of his own desperation, N'jaere tore himself away from the body and departed without further notice, overcome. He had known despondency, but never had he felt so terrible about the death of another. His soul felt like it had been ripped apart. His very existence had been devastated in one fell swoop. Never again would he criticize others when they talked about their losses. He knew...now. The rain had grown harder, and the lighting brighter as the night entered its darkest hours. He stumbled through it, collapsing a few dozen meters from the building into the muddy courtyard. His hands raked through the murky pools of water, needing something to asphyxiate; to kill. Then, he remembered what his godfather had told him, and his violent desires were quieted for a time. Facing the place of bereavement, he happened to look skyward for a fleeting second...and could scarcely breathe. _

_Standing on the roof of the house, was a lone figure. A black cloak whipped around it like a tempest, and when lightning made visibility achievable, N'jaere saw that there was a mask on its face. He could not overlook the unique blood markings for the life of him. In the outline's hand was a blade of some sort, far from the customarily used kind. It was the renegade. It was _him_. _

_N'jaere swore loudly. The traitor didn't move a muscle, and continued to watch with unwaveringly sinister eyes. There was no way for him to be sure, but he was certain that he saw the figure smile before disappearing from sight. _

_N'jaere was certain he wouldn't see the ghostly man again for a long while. Barely able to support himself on his shaking arms, he finally succumb to the shock, and just let himself fall._

_He did not rise on his own will again._

_*-*-*-*-*-*_

Being a naturally refined, genteel man, Count Dooku did not appreciate when his silent meditation was interrupted. The grating tones of the cyborg general were beyond irritating to the count, and when the mechanical creature came barging into the empty, peaceful space, the walls closed in. The anger Dooku held for Grievous was almost shown, but of course, he remained ever the passive human. He rose to his feet reluctantly, facing the oncoming disrespect like he always did. With his hands hanging stiffly at his sides, he watched Grievous with anticipated frustration.

"I have a proposal for you, Count." Was the first thing the general said, arrogance rising to a point where it was excessively clear. Dooku just waited, his eyes narrowed in doubt. Whenever Grievous had a quote, unquote "proposal", the conversation usually didn't end on the best of terms. Nonetheless, he let the nuisance finish. "I believe that the time has come to consider other..._options_ in subduing the Republic."

That caught Dooku's attention. "Go on..." He drawled, interested as to how the scheme would end.

Grievous acknowledged the permission to continue with a slight nod. "If you recall, a while back I told you of a peculiar encounter I had with the woman we have been holding prisoner?"

"Of course. The one in which you became aware of the fact that she possesses a certain 'mark', as it is. Yes, you seemed so fascinated when you described the conversation. What of it?"

Staggering for a moment about what to say in reply to the count's comment, Grievous chose in the end to ignore it. "It would seem, that the female has a very strong sense of aggression in her--one that could contest even that of your acolyte, Ventress."

_Impossible... _"How can you be sure? Have you actually _seen_ her in combat?"

He wasted no time in answering. "Once, she caused a serious malfunction in one of my guards that caused the droid to be inoperative. She has also destroyed and damaged over thirty droids in her stay here with nothing but her own two hands. If, perhaps, we were to see what she is capable of to a further extent, then I imagine that she would make an exceptional assassin for my Lord."

Dooku stroked his beard with two fingers, as he always did when contemplating something carefully. "You may have just sparked a very promising idea, General." Walking around Grievous in the direction of the door, he said, "Report to the room we have been using to practice your fighting skills in approximately two hours. Make sure that she attends...then we shall see if your claims are true."

*-*-*-*-*-*

Like a killer coming up on his victim, Rahkah prowled down the ancient stone hallways with one thought on his mind: _escape_...Unhealthy though it may have seemed, he repeated that word over and over in his head, and a picture of Yeiro was chronic in the scheming space that was his mind. Earlier that day, knowing that the time had come, he had managed to get his hands on a small yet sharp knife from one of the guard houses. He didn't _intend_ on harming anyone on this occasion, but this was what _she_ got for trusting him to rove the grounds unaccompanied. If there was one thing she wouldn't have given Rahkah if she had known, it would have been independence...among other things. Oh well--no matter. It was too late to turn back now; he _really_ wanted out of this confining job. For already, he had began plotting his next plan. It involved Yeiro, bless the boy's condemned soul, and informing of him of a truth that had eluded his awareness for entirely too long. It was quite pleasurable, to be frank, recognizing such an excellent opportunity to make Yeiro's life better. Rahkah could barely conceal his amusement, but all the same, knew that having a mental breakdown would not fit in with what he was about to do.

He stopped to check behind him when he reached the door of she whom he safeguarded, and finding no one, entered without the sound. The powerful scents of incense and spices that hung in the air dizzied him, blurring his already lightheaded vision. It was the adrenaline, he had to remind himself. He had been sober for a month or so, anyway. Creeping noiselessly to the corner of the room where the small passage was, he took up the knife in one hand, and walked into the darkness. The other room, which he had seen only on a few occasions, was very spacious, filled with riches that the people from his old, abject town wouldn't believe. He absorbed the sights, until his eyes settled on his target. For a moment, he watched Tsaiyid, induced in a peaceful looking sleep. And he had to question then, what she would do when he was gone. Throughout the weeks, but especially recently, the two had formed somewhat of a mutual satisfaction of each others' company. They had conferred about their lives on a level that only a single other female had ever reached with Rahkah. She certainly had turned out to be...different in the long run, even if she was often anxious around him. But like many, she was only another mark on the wall of his years, which had been stretched out longer than he had originally wanted. Then he remembered why he was there--and took the fateful steps that would probably get him killed in her direction.

His pulse quickened, and he started to feel like this was too much of a risk. What if he were to be caught? What if the person got the wrong impression of what he was doing in there? He would certainly be executed in the most horrid of ways for that. What if--

Tsaiyid shifted. He dared not move a muscle; his very breath was taken from him momentarily. She now faced him, and he all but shuddered when he saw the huge shadow he cast over her otherwise small form in comparison. Rahkah waited, then lowered himself down onto one knee, silently raising his hand with the knife...

Out of nowhere, her own hand shot up and latched around his wrist, just before her eyes snapped open to look at him. The terrible things that must have been going through her head were devastating, and Rahkah was certain that he would never went to know. A pair of eyes that were normally so unfeeling haunted him with their telltale emotions. He saw a jumble of resentment, betrayal, disappointment, and above everything else: fear. She was scared, naturally. Rahkah didn't exactly have the best of standings to report a valid reason why he would be in a woman's room in the middle of the night, but with his incentive, he could convince her of the truth. He _would_.

"What brings you here?" Tsaiyid asked calmly, divulging more than a little dread in the query. "Have you finally come to take advantage of my benevolence towards you?"

Rahkah shook his head. "No..." He said quietly in order not to give himself away to anyone within hearing range. "No," he repeated for assurance, "that's not why I'm here. I came--to get a name. I need your help..."

Slowly but surely, she released his wrist, but in some way was able to slide the knife out of his fingers in the process. She stared him down in an evocative stillness. "What makes you think that you deserve my assistance?"

He stared back. "Call it...compensation for my services. If you do this for me, I can promise you that you'll never see me again. I know very well that I frighten you, while you hide it well. I know how you've agonized over notions like this." He allowed a short hiatus. "You were waiting for me to make my move weren't you?" He inquired at last. Tsaiyid looked away from him before sitting up edgily. "You don't have anything to be afraid of, darling, I'm not gonna try anything...I just want a name is all."

She appeared to be deliberating whether to say no or not, but at length pronounced, "Who are you looking for, N'jaere?"

"Yeiro, the kid they've kept me from for too long. He's like one of my own to me, and I need to tell 'im something. I need to tell 'im that I'm sorry." Rahkah's voice had grown dismal by the end of his explanation. "Your uncle told me that he's staying with one of the eastern tribes. Is this true?"

She stepped onto the stone floor and walked over to a ornate wooden desk covered in drawers. Opening one of them, she withdrew a rolled up piece of parchment. When she did not give it directly to him, Rahkah's uncertainties escalated, and he approached her with a determination to get the paper without using unnecessarily violent measures. Tsaiyid simply shook her head when he tried to take it, and he paused with the last shred of obedience left in his being.

"What's wrong?" He demanded, hissing only slightly.

"I am...not sure that I should be giving you this. You cannot leave without securing yourself a death sentence..."

Rahkah shifted from one foot to another, and gave her a small smirk. "I've been in worse situations, trust me. This is no different."

Sighing forlornly, she closed her eyes and extended her arm, allowing him to take the paper. Rahkah found this quite curious, and speculated what she may have been thinking. Perhaps she was merely confused about her loyalties. Either that, or she knew she was going to miss him. _So this is what it feels like to be fully appreciated..._He mused_. I'll miss it myself, I think..._

"Thanks." He told her, moving to the door. It surprised him when she unexpectedly blocked his way. Although he drew back, he could see that Tsaiyid was quivering, panicky, if nothing else. Confused, he scrutinized her, requesting an explanation without words. What did she expect from him?

"You will not make it out without me." She said quickly; without conviction. "There are guards at all of the exits...you would have to take unwarranted measures to dispose of them."

Understanding, but still confident about his abilities, Rahkah debated the assertion with care, noting that there were, in fact, many guards in the large home. The odds were very much against him, and without anywhere else to turn, he figured that relying on someone other than himself for just this once couldn't hurt him in anyway. "All right. Let's go."

*-*-*-*-*-*

All Athela had been told was that she was to report to a particular place on the command ship that was off the beaten path. She soon discovered that it was yet, another storage room, but was larger, and completely empty. Curious as this was, it was more boring than she had anticipated, until the two figures entered behind her. She didn't have to see them to know who they were. It was an easy evaluation of the way the one's footsteps clicked on the metal floor, and equally recognizable sound of sturdy footwear. There were only two beings on the entire ship that owned those distinctive footfalls: the general, and the count. Today, of all days, they both looked markedly solemn--probably because they were together. There was no plausible way that they could be content in each other's presence, unless it was a successful battle tactic they were conversing about.

"Go stand over there." Grievous instructed with the utmost gravity, motioning towards the far corner.

She went to protest, "Why? Why should I do that? I didn't come here to--"

Count Dooku interjected. "Do as he says. It is for your benefit, I assure you."

He was an educated man, and so Athela obeyed the order like the mature persona she was trying to convey. Maybe it was all in her imagination, but she saw a flicker of disgust on Dooku's face as she shuffled off to her spot. Irrespective of this, she reached the corner and stood at attention, waiting for something entertaining to happen. Both Confederacy leaders detached their capes from their shoulders, and only then did Athela see that they each held a single lightsaber, Grievous's in his left hand, and Dooku's in his right. What was the point of this, then? Why did she have to watch them practice? It wasn't like it would ever matter to her how they fought, since she obviously wasn't one of "them".

"Excuse me!" She shouted at them. Both their heads turned to look at her simultaneously. "Why do _I_ have to be here?"

Grievous rolled his eyes, treating her like the stupidest thing in the universe in front of his master again. "Keep quiet about it and you will find out." He indicated with a growl. The cyborg seemed...tired, frankly.

"So then, General," Dooku said, activating his red lightsaber, "shall we begin?"

Grievous answered with a fierceness that astounded Athela, igniting the blue lightsaber almost on cue. She had never really seen him fight, but when the two started sparring violently, she realized just how passionate he was about the skill. It justly _was_ an art, seeing how he preformed inhuman twists with his mechanical body, evading the slashes of his identically experienced opponent. In one move, he was down on all fours for a split second, taking up the weapon in his talons and blocking the other blade swiftly before tossing the lightsaber into the air and flipping back onto his feet, catching the hilt in his hand. Sporadically, he would chuckle like a madman upon delivering crushing blows. Eventually, he instigated what Athela defined as "foul play", in the form of using more than his lightsaber to contest Dooku. He would strike out and punch the human whenever he had the chance, proving that there was more to his type of fighting than swordplay. She wished that the fight could have gone on a bit longer, but the count called it to a stop when a particularly hard clout from Grievous's fist collided with his chest.

Athela nodded in satisfaction. Watching this fight had evoked a new respect for the droid general---not just because he could outdo a legendary former Jedi Master, but because his technique was so familiar to her...The way he parried every thrust and stab at him, and how an inborn sense of fluidity allowed him to achieve those strange turns that he had been implementing the whole time.

Grievous glanced at her, and she smiled sincerely, more entertained than she ever had been in her whole stay on the ship.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Grievous's puzzlement grew to unimaginable heights when he looked over at Athela, expecting her usual oblivious expression. But it wasn't there. It was replaced by an amused smile. She had liked it. Of course, if she had any real knowledge in the area of fighting, she would have seen that there had been many more flaws than usual. Dooku had hit him hard this time, and hadn't given him any words of advice on how he could improve.

_What a strange, strange girl_...He thought. _One moment she spits in your face and the next she congratulates a failure_..._She needs some vital help..._

Or did she? Was there really anything wrong with her willingness to be diverted by the display of aggression? There shouldn't have been, but Grievous was determined to find something. If she were to be an assassin, she would have to lose her sense of humor, and replace it with complete and utter solemnity. It was a given in the job description. For now, he still wondered what was wrong with the picture: her standing there smiling...almost certainly at him. He considered the idea of offering a signal of his gratitude back to her, but put that to rest when he heard the count speaking.

"You possess even stronger skills since the last time we fought, General." Dooku told him, bringing his attention back to the matter on hand.

"I have been...practicing."

"I most certainly can tell. It has paid off, but..." Suddenly, Dooku ignited his red blade again and held it up to the cyborg's neck, "...if this were a real life or death situation, you would be the dead one. You've still much work to do. And next time, rely on your lightsaber only. Hand to hand combat can only get you so far."

Despite his abruptly kindled anger towards the count, Grievous complied and took a step backwards, away from the lightsaber blade. "I will see what I can do. With time, I will prove myself."

With what appeared to be a sneer of aversion, Dooku glanced over at Athela, who had crossed her arms lazily and shifted her weight onto one foot. Grievous's gaze landed once more on her, and he noted the subtle ways she expressed her boredom, until his teacher tore him away again. "You have already failed to do that on more then one occasion..." He said portentously, and Grievous knew exactly what he meant. "Don't let it happen again..."

He walked over to Athela after placing his cape back on his shoulders, and Grievous followed suit. Dooku nodded at her, and she back to him, respectfully at that.

"You, uh...you did good." She said to the both of them, but looked at the general.

"I'm happy that it entertained you." Dooku replied, rather curt it tone. "But this was not just for your enjoyment...but for your benefit."

Athela was baffled. "Oh?"

"Yes, General Grievous has told me that you have an innate aptitude in this area. He suggested that you consider working for us permanently."

Her mouth dropped open. Surely it wasn't _that_ surprising. "_Work_ for you? I--I could never do that."

"We saved your people! You're all in debt!" Grievous retorted at her lack of positive reception.

"Peace, General." Dooku chided serenely. "Miss Erihdiy is entitled to her own opinion, even if it is a foolish one." He returned his attention to the woman. "Quite all right, my dear. We won't force anything on you. But it would aid you very greatly if you accepted the position. Now if you both would excuse me." His announcement was so abrupt that neither cyborg nor Kaleesh had the opportunity to react to what he had said. He left them, going off to attend to more _important_ matters, Grievous supposed.

Athela took the chance to redeem herself. "I'm...Well, I'm sorry if you had your hopes up. I just--"

Grievous straitened. "Oh no, it was not my hopes that were crushed this day." He to lurked to the door. "It was your own--your hopes for a good life."

When she heard that, Grievous was convinced that it had an effect on her.

*-*-*-*-*-*

Tsaiyid lead him down many corridors he wasn't familiar with. Secret passageways no doubt. All the while he held onto the parchment with the resolve of his former self, all but nonexistent as of late. He saw many things that harked back memories of Dau-Maz, and felt faintly happier until they chanced to come across a lone guard with a physical build twice that of Rahkah's. He became incredibly gruff when he saw that the lady of the house's _own_ bodyguard was out and about at that time of night, firing questions at the both of them. Rahkah kept his mouth shut, notwithstanding the urge to spout out an avalanche of expletives at the holdup. Not in the best of attitudes, he let his dreads fall down in his face, much like he recalled from that unfortunate night of his friends' deaths, glaring malevolently. Tsaiyid spoke in soft tones, like always, conciliating the irate guard until he let them go on. Confidentially, Rahkah was impressed with the woman's talent for lying, and doing a good job at it too. She would have to do a whole lot more of it after he was gone. Rahkah had come up with it all, initially. She would say that he attacked her outdoors, and then ran away. Then, she would order her servants and guards not to say a thing to her uncle about it, therefore saving Rahkah any extra trouble along the way to Yeiro.

It was too long until he found himself at the door to freedom. He thanked her sincerely, and sauntered out, more than ready to find the kid after all the time stuck in the custody of the "law". He grasped something then, and halted. Guilty, he turned around once more to see that she was still there.

"I shall not see you again, will I?" Tsaiyid spoke with a detachedness that was extreme even for her. Feeling suddenly sorry for her, Rahkah had no idea how to respond. He didn't want to upset anyone any more than he already did on a daily basis, yet the will to tell her the truth nagged at him just as surely as the will to leave this place forever. Why should it matter? She was scared of him anyway. It wouldn't make a difference. He wouldn't lie to her, however. Not after all she had done for him.

Rahkah shrugged. "Maybe you will; maybe you won't. It's hard to say with people like me..." He added a chuckle to lighten the otherwise dark mood of his proclamation. "But just between you and me, I wish I had found someone like you a whole lot sooner..."

With that said, he mock saluted her, and headed on his way, not sure of what the future would bring for him.


	36. Discoveries and Meetings

**To my only reviewer as of late whom I adore: enable your private messaging post haste! I tried to respond to your latest review and answer some of your questions, but found that such a thing wasn't able to be done. This way, I can tell you when I'm gonna update and stuff! You rock for caring about this story so!**

**Anyways...onwards we go! LOTS OF MASSIVE-IMPORTANT THINGS ARE IN STORE, seeing as this story will be coming to a close somewhere in the near future! Yup... I won't beg or anything, but...R-E-V-I-E-W!**

**Chapter 36~ Decisions, Discoveries and Awkward Meetings**

Needless to say, Athela _had_ been effected by Grievous's proclamation-much more so than he even suspected, presumably. She took what he had said about her life to heart and lost much sleep for many nights. She rarely left her room for a long while, and when she did, it was only when she had to eat, which she did a minimal amount of anyway, since the food provided aboard was so different from her old diet. Truth be told, she missed her old lifestyle very much. Not just some things, but virtually everything about it. While her mind was on food, she would remember the days when she would join in the hunt with her friends, who, being made up mostly of males, respected her even though she was a woman. She was not inferior back on Kalee as she was here...and they hadn't even known her background either. Not that it mattered in her current situation. If she told them the lot of what was threatening to explode from her mouth, they would think her quite an insane person, and would either lock her up or send her away. She didn't suppose Grievous would be much help either, considering she felt awkward talking to him anymore. Athela couldn't risk getting herself into more trouble then she already had over the past months. Perhaps she had made a mistake when she refused the offer to work for the Confederacy; she should've accepted...she could've been in a better place if she had-

She cursed at herself. There were those pesky "what-ifs" again. A wise one had once told her that if she dwelled on what could have been, instead of what already was, she would lose her mind, much like a dear friend of hers. the poor soul had lost himself to the inescapable clutches of misery and...well, it was a long story that didn't end as well as Athela would have liked to think. And this was the very one she longed to find. One who was lost would never be found unless she found away off of the ship. Trying to get away was futile. Melancholically, she curled up tighter in her usual corner, tucking her head within the safe refuge of her arms. She was tired...of all of it. the ship. the room in which she resided. the soulless mechanical beings. the order. And most of all: Grievous. Awhile ago, when he was being more "civilized", she would've said otherwise, but not as it looked from her present standpoint. Someone like her didn't _belong_ in space. She belonged in a place where she could feel the earth beneath her feet; a place where the warm breezes would drift in from the land; a place, that she could call home.

This was not that place.

It would _never_ be. Home wasn't composed of metal.

With this discouraging thought, another soon awakened. Athela was not naturally a schemer, but when the cogs started to mesh inside her head, she just went with it. And how could she ignore such a brilliantly wicked idea? Simple: she couldn't. Standing weakly to her feet, she walked swiftly to the door, hungry, but willing to ignore the feeling until further notice. She hurried out into the hallway, disregarding her unkempt appearance. Groups of droids stopped to watch her rush by them, and some even commented to themselves about it. When she came upon a particularly large horde of machines, she shoved through them without a second thought, not concerned about anyone's wellbeing in her haste. Nasty remarks followed her action, but were completely and utterly overlooked. Athela had no time; plots would only last so long in a brain such as hers. It took a long time, traveling the ships corridors, and it didn't help matters that she was rather unsure as to how to arrive at her destination. Picking up the pace despite the dizziness threatening to claim her, she rounded a corner and crossed through the large doorway at what she knew to be the end of the hall. Well...That_ wasn't so hard_...She congratulated with self-approval.

Strange...She hadn't been in the main hanger bay for a while, and she was amazed by the sheer magnitude of it. the place was bustling more so than usual, filled with ships and war machines of all shapes and sizes. Droids ran this way and that, all involved in various tasks having to do with the smaller vessels. In other words: it was the equivalent to the command bridge times a thousand. Standing out among the little robots, her eyes scanned the space for the only other that was as conspicuous as she. How had she known that Grievous would be here? Well...when all else failed, she knew where to look, and the cyborg seemed to be the most comfortable around unresponsive objects. So, therefore, a location where ships were would be the most prominent choice. She didn't see him, no matter how much she tried, until she chanced to circle around a large ground-weapon that was in a line to be rolled up onto a large transport.

There he was, perched atop a snazzy looking starship with a very dominant air about him. He bent down over the two bodyguard droids that stood below him, saying something to them in an undertone. His head slowly straitened, even though his posture remained hunched, to watch her approaching them. Standing upright, he said nothing. When Athela got in close enough range, the two bodyguards in front of her crossed their staffs into an 'x', sending out a clear message that where she was was as far as she was going to get. With one hand on her hip, she gave the general a sarcastic expression before speaking.

"I need to talk to you, so tell your guards to move before they're permanently put out of service..."

From his vantage point above the three underlings-or rather two, since the woman obviously wasn't willing to be labeled so-Grievous cocked his head and made a small hand motion to his waiting sentinels, who dispersed. Nodding to show her appreciation for his acquiescence, Athela closed the distance between herself and the ship, and peered up at Grievous. After a moment longer than he was comfortable with, he resumed his work, lifting up a panel just behind the cockpit and studying the power-driven components with an absorption she had only seen him express in front of her on only a couple of occasions. Observing him examining the interior of the starship, Athela's mind temporarily went blank with what she had come for. But when the cyborg offered an unintended comment, it sparked her memory once again.

"Are you simply going to stand there staring like a senseless animal, or are you going to say something?" He paused to glance at her. "That is why you are here, is it not? To speak with me?"

Stumbling, Athela forced an answer, "Yes, of course it is, but I-I don't feel at ease talking to you from down here, if you understand, sir."

"You are by far the most absurd, foolish..." Grievous trailed off and swore under his breath before standing, leaning down and stabbing a hand out to her. Surprised at this, Athela accepted the gesture of help, but found that he did not take hold of her own hand, but instead grabbed her wrist unemotionally and slung her up onto the ship's roof without further criticism. Ripping his arm away like she was some kind of disease, he knelt back down over the panel he had detached, scrutinizing a collection of multi-colored wires. "Is there anything else I can do for you, your highness?" He leered, not removing his gaze from the task at which he concentrated on.

"No." Athela retorted ineptly. She pushed herself up, because Grievous had taken no concern as to how she landed when he'd thrown her across from him. "Actually...I came to ask you something-"

"Will this take long?" He practically interrupted.

She faltered, but came up with a witty response. "Well, sir, I believe that the time it takes you to answer will determine that." She smirked when his eyes flicked up at her, burning with annoyance.

"Speak then, I haven't all day."

"You see, sir, I've been thinking about it, and I have come to a conclusion." Athela took a deep breath. "I have decided...to accept the job you advised."

It came as more of a shock to him than Athela had anticipated. He was to his feet so fast that she thought she heard a joint in his leg snap. His golden eyes were wide; his hands hung limp at his sides. For what seemed like eons, he gaped at her without use of a mouth, conveying his astonishment more than an expression ever could. His eyes betrayed his revelation. Slowly, without looking away, Grievous placed the panel back over the exposed wires and electrical things, and just as slowly, he returned to his normal self.

"You should have told me this days ago!" He scolded harshly, coughing when his voice became too grating for him to bear. "Why didn't you!"

"I didn't know how! You are so critical of other peoples' opinions that if someone says something off beam in precisely the wrong second, you'll take their head!"

He let her words sink in. "_You_...are afraid? Preposterous!" He rasped. "I do not know what you are trying to pull, but I can promise you that if it has anything to do with some kind of sick revenge I will not stand for it!"

"Just listen to yourself! Can't you trust me for _once_? I thought you were beginning to, but I suppose I'm mistaken."

Lost, Grievous sighed and relaxed into a more becoming stance. To Athela, he looked as though he was attempting to understand, or even do as she suggested, because for the longest time, he did not raise his voice again. When at last, he had composed himself, he addressed her with an even tone. "So...you want to work for us, do you?"

"Yes, sir, I think that's where I was going with this."

"You do realize that you will be required to kill. Can you give your word that nothing will hinder you?"

"Yes. I can." _Because the more cooperative I am, the sooner I leave_...She added mentally. "So...I work for you? Just like that?"

He chuckled, and did a visual sweep around him to see if anyone was watching. "If that was the case, the Separatists would have more scum coming to their doorsteps then they knew what to do with." Grievous laughed quietly to himself again, finding her lack of know-how entertaining in some way. Before continuing on, he grew serious so fast that Athela forgot that he had just been expressing his amusement. "No. There will have to be some meetings, and of course your contract."

A sense of despair came over her. "My _what_?"

"Oh, you were not informed? Then I shall enlighten you." He said it with grim hilarity, like he enjoyed taunting her. "You see, in order for you to become one of us, you will need to sign some..._legal documents_, that assure your motives are strictly business related, and not for-ahem, _personal gain_...which I know they _aren't_." Stressing the last word, he made Athela wonder if he knew what she was up to. "But first, Count Dooku and myself require you to be acquainted with the Separatist Council."

Athela slipped deeper into the clutches of dread. "You mean, like, the group that the Banking Clan is associated with?" She asked breathlessly, denying a shiver.

"Why, yes...how ever did you know?" The cyborg drawled, not sarcastic but more enigmatic. "You will be summoned when they all arrive on this ship, and I expect that you will be promptly on time."

She managed a nod.

"Now, if you would be so kind as to remove yourself from the premises. I have work to do."

_I have work to do all right_...

Grievous watched her closely as she disappeared into the sea of droids, temporarily drawn to the newly confident way she carried herself. It was almost like she knew something...What if she was on to him? She couldn't find out who he was! That would complicate matters more than they already were! And they _were_ complicated, both mentally and-

"_Where are my guards when I need them_!" He roared, leaping down from atop his personal starship and landing with a loud reverberation. "_You are all so blasted useless_!" The general shouted when the Magnaguards had returned to his sides. "_Why can't you do anything right_?"

"I believe you told to depart shortly after the female appeared." One pointed out.

Grievous hulked over it, eyes burning. "Did I ask you?"

"No sir."

With a mindset vigorously violent in intentions, the cyborg turned slowly to the other droid guard who had remained quiet. "Come with me. I have much to accomplish before this day is over..."

He began his journey to the other side of the hanger bay, but was delayed when the Magnaguard his verbal wrath had been directed towards followed him as well. Irritated to say the least, Grievous stood higher and looked down on the source of his frustration. "Count Dooku never ceases to remind me that the cost for one of your kind is steep, and so I will not rip you apart today. However, if you follow me, I might make an exception."

Only one of the droids accompanied him.

It had been a few days at least since Athela had made the choice to join up with the Confederacy, and she began to wonder how long it would be until Grievous got all the Council together to chat. She roamed around the whole ship aimlessly, not sleeping for fear of trouble. Droids started to get antsy at the sight of her, for she could be one place at one time in the day, and an entirely different place only moments later. It perturbed the machines-the way she was able to move from location to location without making her presence completely known. Then, there was the matter of the cyborg general again...Oh, how she loathed the thought of him. _He_ was the reason she was in this mess. _He_ was the bane of her existence. But, as in most cases, it turned out to be quite ironic that _he_ was the one solely able to release her from the metal prison. When, at last, she could take it no longer, she went to his quarters to speak with him about his so-called promises.

As her own poor luck would have it, he wasn't even there.

So Athela decided to wait for him.

Sighing a depressed sigh, she leaned against the back wall on the upper floor, but just when she pressed her weight into the panel...

Suddenly, she was on her back looking up at the ceiling above. It had swiftly grown dark, and her head began to throb. Bracing herself with one arm, she sat up and stared in front of herself. Before her was the cyborg's quarters, but the panel she had gone to lean on had swung inward as soon as she had put any pressure on it. What could that mean? Could Grievous _actually_ have a undisclosed room within the privacy of his accommodations? If so, for what purpose? He didn't seem the type to have need for such things, even if the intention was not as twisted as Athela's mind first assumed. _Remember, he's not mortal...and you really need to clean that brain of yours..._That ever-familiar voice of reason commented in an echoing, internal voice. _Yes...I know I do...but can you blame me really...?_ She replied without opening her mouth to speak. _He _is_ insane, after all..._

Frightened to look behind her, Athela swallowed heavily and turned around even as she was still seated. What she saw shocked her. She had _never_ suspected anything like what she saw. _That just proves it..._Her conscience said._ You need a mind that doesn't automatically turn simple things into distorted works of perverseness..._

"Would you shut up?" She hissed, not too loudly in case there was anyone to hear.

The room was full of computers, dull green lights, and strange symbols on the walls. Further inspection proved that it spanned the whole length of the back wall. Athela's curiosity was piqued even more when she began to wonder what was on the computers. But she shouldn't. She couldn't. He would know! _Somehow_ he would find out if she accessed any information, which was likely personal at that. Then again, what could he _possibly_ have that was so forbidden to view anyway? It wasn't like his secrets could hurt people! The nasty machine only _killed_ things for the gods' sakes! But what if she was mistaken, and he really did have secrets that would better be left in the dark? If she didn't know better, she would have assumed Grievous had files on her-or worse, surveillance...And if he watched her that meant that he could-

"Oh gods he wouldn't!" She shouted aloud, completely disregarding the fact that she could get caught.

At that second, she couldn't care less. To her feet in no time, she closed the panel all but a tiny crack so that she could escape if the time should present itself. She slid into one of the chairs in front of what appeared to be the main computer, and quickly pushed a random button on the keyboard. The screen flashed to life, and Athela suddenly had the sinking feeling that it would require some sort of password to gain admittance. Cursing under her breath, she soon took it back when she discovered that there appeared to be no such restrictions. Odd, it was expected that he would protect whatever he was hiding in the surreptitious room better...unless he had been previously on the computer and simply forgot to lock it again when he was called out for something important. Athela new little about technology, as she had stated so many times, but it was simple from there on out. All she had to do was type in what she wanted to find, and though her spelling in basic was limited, she managed.

She started with the obvious: "GENERAL GRIEVOUS", which probably would have been a fool's move should she not have known the way he operated. Dozens and dozens of things popped up, and Athela's eyes perused the choices. It was useless! Everything was encrypted by some means, and was sorted according to a complex combination of letters and numbers. Either the Separatists were really paranoid about something, or Grievous was suspicious of people like Athela snooping around in matters that weren't her own. Scrolling down the structured listing, she reached the bottom with no success, until she saw the last file. Countless thoughts came rushing into her head. _What is this? Why is it within the Confederacy's system? Why is it the way it was? What is it supposed to mean?_

It read: _'Recollections'_...in the Kaleesh language. "He knows it..." She whispered. "How is that possible...?"

Fingers trembling, Athela selected it, and a new display appeared. There were only a few things-a single paragraph written in basic, a video, and another file without a name. She read the paragraph first.

_There are many things I remember, but even more that I have chosen to forget. Positive words are few for me. I do not feel. I cannot feel. My purpose for recording my thoughts is unclear to me, but someday I will know exactly what my purpose is, and why the fate which condemns me to this hellish life is so harsh. I do remember some things that are even faintly pleasant. I remember the sun, which I have learned to live without. I also recall the sensation of the ground. I am too numb now to know it. But most of all, I remember..._

"...a pair of eyes. There is a scar through the right one. I do not know why, nor will I ever." Athela finished audibly, having a flashback to an earlier point in time when she had accompanied him on the trip to Geonosis.

_"Tell me, did you once have a scar on your face?"_

_"I-I'm sorry...? A-a scar-on-on my face? Why do you want to know?"_

_"Curiosity, purely. Did you or did you not once have a minor disfigurement right," he had paused to roughly place a finger on her forehead, right above her right eye, causing her to yelp from the force he had not been able to prevent. "Here," replacing his index finger on her jaw he had attempted to make her picture it, "to here?"_

_"N-no sir...I-I...I don't think I've ever had a scar there...sir."_

_"Never?"_

_"I don't think so..."_

_"I relative of yours?" He had sounded eager, like he had an insatiable thirst to know._

_"Don't have any. They're all dead."_

_"Good for them." He had sat back down._

_"Um-not to sound offensive or anything, but why do you care?"_

_"That is not for you to know."_

Not for Athela to know! It was one of the few memories of his past life that he recalled, and he had kept it to himself! "Who is this guy?" She said to herself again. Truth be told, she felt rarely sorry for him if he was the actual writer. Which implied that he knew her language...and used it in his private files..._This is not a conclusion I am ready to face yet!_ Confused greatly, she opened the video, finding out that it wasn't a video after all, but rather a entirely black picture with voices in the background. While she listened she denied once more all that she knew was coming true around her.

"What is your name?" A shifty voice asked quietly.

"I...do not...know..." Another tone replied, rigid, thickly accented and tongue-tied.

"What is your name?" The question was repeated.

"You...have no need...to know it...now that you have killed him..."

"Killed _him_? There was never any "him", only _you_." It was said in more of an aggressive jeer than what is was obviously intended. "Now, tell me, what is your name?"

A garbled curse. "Grievous...because they killed her...and now...you have killed _me_..."

"I believe," the other voice had grown stiff, and whoever it was inhaled tightly, "we need to do some more work on him. He remembers too much."

Static followed. Growing more and more terrified by the moment, Athela selected the final file.

As her original fears were proven, she could not move.

General Grievous wondered where the woman was. He was getting fed up with her lack of promptness, and if he failed to get some answers soon, he would have to kill someone. The Separatist Council was arriving at last, and he had sent a messenger droid off eons ago to fetch Athela...who seemed to be ignoring him. For what reason-he didn't know, and he wouldn't try. It would just cause him more of nuisance than he wanted to deal with. Pulling one of his guards over, he demanded to know why she had not showed up yet, and got a reaction that was exactly as he suspected. The droid didn't know, and was therefore useless to the cause. Telling the Magnaguard to inform the Council that he would be with them momentarily, he set off to find her himself, swearing to punish her for her lateness after it was all said and done. He arrived at her room in record time. Wondering how he had managed to get from the designated meeting room to hers so quickly, he pushed the thought aside and entered without hesitance, like he normally did. Immediately regretting it, supposing that doing so might someday put him in an awkward situation he didn't need to face, he noted with great relief that she wasn't even there. _Then where could she be, then...?_

Grievous instantly went to his quarters, guessing that she may be waiting for him there. Little did he know what she was really doing, and what she was finding out just as he walked out of her room...

_No...This can't be true...It isn't true..._

Athela couldn't bear to read it. Emotions she had given only refutation for so long were uncontrollable now. There was no stopping them; no stopping the sadness. Her eyes scanned the page with care, but she shook hysterically. Her fingers crushed into her palms with enough force to draw blood-the feeling of nausea would not leave her. This couldn't be happening to her! She had never known, though a faint suspicion had crossed her mind, but she had no idea...no idea that _this_ was how she would find out. Tremulous, Athela lifted the leather pouch from around her waist, and once more took out the letter she had read so many times before. She skipped to the end line, finally understanding what it meant...

_...offers have been made, and I am in a position to accept._

Offers? Athela scoffed, noticing that her palms were bleeding from where her sharp nails had dug in. Delicately folding the paper up, she understood it _all_. So many times had she tortured herself trying to comprehend what the writer had been trying to say to her, and it had all been made clear in one fell swoop. _Too much...Too much...Oh gods I'm losing it..._With her had in her hands, she sat there, in the secret room of the cyborg general, before a computer full of forbidden information that she ought to have known better then to access. But no. She never "knew better"! Never! And look where it had gotten her. She was having a nervous breakdown at a very bad time...for in that second, she heard the footsteps coming down the short hall outside the observatory spire. Panicking she tried to pull herself together, closing every single file she had looked at, and slipping out of the chair. All of the sudden her legs wouldn't hold her up. The floor came at her faster than she was prepared for, and her head was greeted by the sickening feeling of metal. But she couldn't wait-she had to move! He would surely kill her if she was found.

Advancing towards the cracked panel at a crawl, she reached it quick enough, but would it be in time?

Shoving the make-shift door out, she pushed herself out and kicked the panel shut with one foot. There wasn't a sound, save for a small metallic slam when it collided back into place. Moving to the panel next to it, she slumped against it, still shaking. Crossing her arms over herself in a vain attempt to stop the spasms, her head turned to the door when the resounding footsteps abruptly stopped. All at once she was scared that he knew. She was scared that he had come for her. But he did not look to have murderous intentions...No-he just looked concerned about something. _Obviously not me..._She reminded herself, bracing her hands on the floor on either side of herself.

"What do you think you're doing!" He shouted, approaching her at rapid speeds. New fear came to life, replacing any comfort she might have taken in his previous lack of animosity.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! Please don't kill me I didn't mean anything by it please!" Everything slurred together, and was a mixture between Kaleesh and basic.

Grievous stopped. "Why would I kill you? Did you, or did you not get my message?"

Athela shrank back. "What message?"

"The Separatist Council is here, as we speak, and you are keeping them waiting! _Where have you been all this time_?"

"I-uh-I-was...waiting here...for you."

"For me."

"Yes?"

He stared at her harshly. "Something tells me you are not telling the truth. But we will..._deal_ with that later, won't we?"

"Yes, sir."

"Come then. You must make haste." Athela had wobblingly gotten to her feet by that point, and followed him at a slow pace. This, of course, did anything by please him, and Grievous whirled around and cruelly inquired, "Why are you moving so slow, woman! Have you no care for other peoples' time!" Shivering at the tone of his voice, Athela could only nod. It must have evoked something in him, because his eyes moved to her hands, placed at her sides. "Let me see your hands." He ordered, snapping as usual. She held them out palms up, and watched his eyes widen in mistrust at their condition. "What is _this_?" He retorted, gesturing violently at her injury. "Is this something you do in your spare time? Go wash up immediately! Report to room 3309 when you are presentable!"

And with a sharp turn, he left her standing there...wounded in more ways than one.

It took awhile, but Athela finally managed to get the bleeding to stop. She obviously couldn't wrap anything around her hands, because then everyone would know something was up. Deciding that she would just have to risk it with the marks on her palms, Athela hurried to room 3309...or whatever he had said. When she arrived there, she was met by, yet again, two of Grievous's guards. She didn't have to do anything however; they moved as soon as they saw her. Moving through the doorway rapidly, she was met by the staring faces of what was said to be the Separatist Council. They looked judgingly upon her, ripping her apart with their eyes. A certain tall alien at the far corner of the table caught her attention-a certain tall alien that all of the sudden seemed all too uncomfortable with a Kaleesh woman on the premises. It was the leader of the Banking Clan, and he had averted his gaze downward to study his hand on the long, metal table. Tearing her nervous eyes away, Athela scrutinized the rest of them and found that the species varied immensely, from amphibious creatures to ones that were more avian in structure. To say that they were all unique would be an understatement. Of course, who was she to talk? It wasn't like she was _normal _looking either...

She heard the cyborg's voice and nearly jumped, unaware that he was there. He had been standing in a corner, watching her with amusement. _If he knew..._Athela ended the thought, and felt all the more anxious about facing these people. He would certainly see her shaking, and then confront her afterwards. Then, she would have to lie, which would fail greatly due to his ability to detect such things, and he would probably beat the information out of her. Why did things have to be so difficult!

"I do hope that none of you are missing. That would be a _very bad_ mistake." Grievous informed with more than enough dreariness. "I trust you all know why you are hear?"

Nods and other expressions of agreement followed, until one of them, a loud-mouth, green skinned amphibian spoke up. "You mean to tell me that you took me away from my rare break because you have some sleazy freak to parade around? I don't have the time of day for this kind of slighting nonsense!" The alien stood, arms crossed.

"_Sit_. _Down_. _Viceroy_!" Grievous barked. "No one asked you what your opinion was!"

Athela saw how easily the visitor got the general riled up, and wondered how it would be if all of them started agreeing with the so-called Viceroy. She stood there silently, glaring at the troublemaker. He caught her look and appeared disturbed as he slowly lowered himself back down into his seat. Grievous must have seen her do that to him, and he cleared his throat before going on.

"As I was _saying_...This is Athela Erihdiy. She has expressed her interest in working for us as an assassin, and with the proper instruction, she will be a great benefit to us."

"What about Asajj Ventress, General?" A nasal, slight haughty voice came from the end of the table. Athela noted with renewed unease that it was the Banking Clan head. "Surely you cannot be considering replacing _her_ with _this_..." He trailed off and made a circular motion with one long-fingered hand. "...anomaly."

"What about her?" countered Grievous mockingly. "As far as I am concerned, she can be outdone by Miss Erihdiy with only a few weeks of guidance. Moreover, the Commander is too emotionally involved with her work. She lets her anger get in the way."

"And you don't!" The Viceroy cut in.

Grievous sighed, exasperated. "Even though I will not deny that, I know that-"

"Excuse me!" Athela snapped. All head turned to look at her. "I was not aware that this was to be a shouting match between General Grievous and that guy!" She stabbed one finger at the agitator. "Now, if I have to speak, let me do it now, so that I can get on with my life..." _I can't breathe, I can't breathe..._"I respect Asajj Ventress, and I have no intention of replacing her in any way. Heck, a few days ago, I turned down the offer the General made to me concerning this job position. I had no interest in being part of the Confederacy. I mean, look at me...I'm not like any of you"-_Lies...lies..._-"because I have _no_ power. I can't begin to tell you how many times Grievous here has been forced to punish me because I'm so insolent..."

Someone commented, "Is that why your hands are damaged?"

She had not realized that her palms were turned out to a point where everyone could see the marks. Struggling to explain, she did not get the chance before the Viceroy interrupted _again_.

"So you _do_ abuse her! I would have thought someone of your _incredibly high standings_ would know better! What _else_ have you done to her that we don't know about, hm?"

Athela was through. "Listen..._Viceroy_, the injuries on my hands are my own doing. It was an accident."

"He probably told you to say that!"

"_Moving on_! Look, you can bicker with Grievous all you want, just give me _one_ more minute of your time." She had never tried so hard to make people listen to her in her life. Usually she would have given up by that point. Surprised that the cyborg ad remained quiet, she sighed deeply. "I guess I can say that violence is something that my race has innately, and I decided to accept the job because I know helping the Confederacy will further my knowledge of _foreign_ military proceedings. My people do not know that I am here, and I have no immediate family left. I have _nothing_ to lose...except my life."

The Banking Clan leader spoke up again. "How much..._financially_ will she cost, General?"

"If you have something to say to me, ask me directly." Athela said before Grievous could answer. "Yes, I _know_ you are_._ I _know _what you did, and I will have nothing to do with you in the future. You are a liar...and a _murderer_. You made promises to us that you could not keep!"

"This meeting is over!" Grievous shouted at them. "_Get out_, all of you!"

He grabbed Athela by the arm and dragged her out of the room. When the door had closed, he hissed, "What was that about?"

"What do you mean?" She stumbled in her effort to keep up with his fast pace.

"You know perfectly well what I mean! You could not resist could you!"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" She screeched, clawing to get away from his bone-crushing grip. In reality, she did, and became conscious of what a foolish move she'd made by telling off a Separatist leader. But it had just come to her! She had been wanting to say those things to him for the longest time, and she had no control over her words in those instances. "I swear!"

Grievous didn't let go. "Why must you be so daft?" He queried, not as loud. Looking away from her, he stared up the hall abstractedly. "I do not understand..."

"You don't understand a lot of things by the looks of it."

"_What_?" The one-syllable word could not have sounded any colder. "What are you talking about?"

Athela knew then that she needed to tell him. She didn't want to, but she _had_ to. She couldn't live with the guilt of being aware of everything her whole life without explaining it to him, even though he would not get it. _I'm such a coward_...She acknowledged mentally. _I can't tell him_..._I have to...but I can't_..._Will he find out on his own if I keep silent about it...? Or will it remain a secret forever...?_

"I think I need to get some sleep." Athela lied. "I have not been getting much rest lately. I keep having these weird dreams, you know?"

Grievous shook his head. "I do not dream." Slowly, he took his arm away, letting his hand hover in mid air for a minute. "Do not speak out of turn again when in front of the Council, or I will make life harder for you then it already is."

That was a promise he would keep, that was for sure...

**Okay, review please? I can't guarantee the next update will be as quick as some of you would like, because my newest story needs some work done on it. I suggest you check it out! Anyways...The next chapter will feature a scene I wrote earlier this year concerning Athela's proper fighting instruction...Good day\night to you all!**


	37. We Call It Living

**He he he...This was just too good of an opportunity to pass up...And, now, ladies, gentlemen, and aliens-whom I would very much like to make the acquaintance of-I give thee..."**_**Strange Encounters Between Athela & Rahkah**_**"...HAHAHAHAHAHA! Plus, as promised, a bit o' Grievous dueling entertainment...And now on to my explanation of why this update took so long. You see, my friends, I was away on a trip with my youth group to what is known as "Creation 2010" up in the mountains of Pennsylvania, and a consequence of going to that is being kept up until the early hours of the morning for about a week watching concerts and such. So, long story short, when I got home, you can imagine how tired I was, and I had to catch up on a lot of missed sleep. Another small note: the title of this chapter comes from a great song that I actually became interested in on the trip I went on. It's called 'Needle and Haystack Life', by the band Switchfoot...check it out and be amazed.**

**Chapter 37~We Call It Living**

If there was one thing that came as an added shock to Athela following her recent discovery, it was the fact that Grievous would _never_ allow her access to a lightsaber. There wasn't any particular reasons why he would be pushed to that extent, but he explained his rationales so vividly-involving tales about her destructive nature that were violently blown out of proportion-that she gave up all together trying to convince him otherwise half way through the first fighting "lesson" she received. Apparently, the area of work that she had impulsively placed herself in required vast amounts of expertise in the area of hand to hand combat, and relied solely on one's ability to control one's body movements, depending on the use of a material weapon as a last resort only. The cyborg assured Athela that she would do satisfactorily, making a vague reference to the Kaleesh race in general, and their respectable yet hostile nature. Of course he would know! She wanted to scream at him; tell him that she knew who he was and who he had once been. She wanted to beg him to understand, to feel once more the sensation of complete and utter weakness that could only be brought upon by one person in the whole galaxy. But how could words ever express the jumbled mess of emotions and details trapped inside? How could someone like her ever have the strength to convince the quote, "Supreme Commander of the Droid Armies" that she had been affiliated with him in a past life...on his part at least. She, on the other hand, remembered it all, from every unforgettable moment to every long year without contact. Athela preferred to keep in mind the good times, and not the lonely darkness that afflicted her even as she her thoughts ran wild.

In a daze, she had completely overlooked the fact that she was involved in one of the rigorous, weaponless training sessions, and snapped out of it just in time to dodge a crushing blow that _would_ have found its mark somewhere around her left shoulder. It had been a grueling couple weeks, full of backbreaking hours of what Grievous referred to as "guidance". She had begun to realize that the methods he used for unarmed hostility did not differ that greatly from what she remembered. Back when he had been corporeal, and she much younger in both years and attentiveness, he had taught her how to fight. Too bad that the skills she had learned then hadn't come with her when she had left her homeworld. She _was_ picking up on it again, but very slowly at that. Athela maneuvered her way around him by some means, noticing that while he was agile, his large body hindered some of the finesse that she, as a mortal being possessed. But, seeing as she was a novice, it did her no good in the end when it came to his cunning, and she was not even close in that area. She found herself caught, just before she was thrown to the floor. Athela hit the tiles with a grunt of pain. Grievous eyes her with a smirk in his gaze.

"Give up?" He taunted her.

Feeling that a reply would be extremely cliché, she jumped to her feet quickly, as he had instructed her to do on many occasions. Ignoring the throbbing that pulsed through her from the fall to the hard floor, she dove out of the way just in time to miss another bone shattering swipe at her head. That was one thing that she gave to him: he had no restraint. He hadn't taken it easy on her even from day one, and had pushed her to her utmost potential. Obviously he wasn't used to the concept of teaching-because he did little of it. Once in awhile, he would tell her to do something when she didn't pick up on it, but mostly he would let her learn from her own faults. Oh the joys from being trained under and emotionless wretch...She landed in a crouch, with one leg out to the side and the other bent under her, her hands on the floor in front of her. Grievous whirled around and straitened in surprise. Athela smirked this time.

"Impressive, but..." He paused, and his eyes rolled around in silence. Suddenly, he lashed out with his left foot and knocked her onto her back. Stepping over her, he canted his head at a strange angle, his clawed foot fitting barely over her abdomen. Pinned down by the massive weight of her opponent, she watched in helplessly as he leaned in a bit too close for her own comfort; so close that she could feel what appeared to be a rush of synthesized breath hit her face. Disappointment was all Athela saw in him when he finished his original comment, "...you were positioned completely wrong. You had both of your hands on the ground in front of you instead of one! _Clearly_ a way to trip you up if I ever saw one..." Still, he did not move, and she dared not reply lest he move his foot and rip her open. "You are capable of _better_. You must channel your strengths. _Try harder_." He spoke the words as though through clenched teeth, and then stepped back. Once more, the space above her was free, and Athela released her breath, only to inhale sharply again when she heard him snap, "Get up, weakling!"

Racing to obey, Athela sprang to her feet, only to hit the floor another time, a welt forming on the back of her leg. Growling, she ignored it and went to redeem herself. She was hit hard in the side, a curse erupting from her mouth. Grievous, not amused, stopped all assault momentarily to see what she would do, and just as he predicted, Athela took full advantage of the situation, even if she was a bit suspicious. Frustrated beyond level-headedness, she went to defend herself with all the strength she had left in herself. Her feet had left the ground, and she felt her hands come in contact with the armor on one of the cyborg's large shoulders. A sensation of triumph overcame her, but just as rapidly it diminished, when she hit the wall on the other side of the room with a loud thud. He had thrown her, as it was, and she had thankfully made contact with the vertical surface in a way that would have no lasting affects on her. Just on that occasion, she had managed to stay conscious. When she saw the shadow looming over her, on the other hand, she wished that she had hit her head. Bracing herself for another round of verbal cruelty, Athela counted the seconds, but the yelling never came. He was...silent. She had to speak her concerns.

"What are you waiting for?" She mumbled, her arms curled securely around her head. "Am I not to be subject to another one of your torturous lectures?"

Surprisingly, his reply came when he was halfway across the room, headed to the door. "This session is over." He snarled. "Come back to me when you are ready to _fight_."

Angry at him, Athela watched him from her place on the floor. "_Excuse me_?" She asked, amazed at his ignorance. "What do you think I've been doing for the past two hours?"

Still on his way out, Grievous threw up his arms in exasperation. "_Clearly_...you have not been exploiting your abilities to their fullest this day. Whatever you have been doing is not considered proper fighting, and I highly doubt any adversaries you will face will consider it so either when they take your life." Athela went to protest, but she was cut off. "Therefore, you will return to me when you have vindicated your mind of whatever has been distracting you, and then we will try this again." And he was gone...just like that,

"_Gods_ you have issues!" She shouted at the doorway.

_Athela was startled by the sound of a voice coming from the entrance to her temporary living quarters. She supposed it was her own fault, not making clear to the guards that no one was allowed in, but the impromptu timing on the visitor's part was bothersome. It was made even more trying-and also very awkward-when she discovered that it was a man that she did not know. Well...she had _seen_ him before when she had been introduced to all of _his_ friends, but she had not said a word to him. She remembered his pronounced muscles, and uncontainable hair, but most of all, it was his telltale expression that made her want to run. He was a predator, someone who victimized anyone he could get his hands on, and the smirk that materialized as he stood before her made matter many times worse for Athela. She did not know his name, nor his age, but he looked older than her-even older than her new-found friend, but judging by the unparalleled shape he was in, he could not be past thirty standard years. Crossing his massive arms across his chest, he studied her with mock surprise._

_"Come now...surely you're not completely stunned." His voice was regular in pitch, but had a certain slur to it that made Athela aware to the fact that he was an alcoholic. Of course then! He was the man that she had been warned about! "If your extraordinarily popular friend told you anything, you would know that I _had_ to come and pay you a visit..._Athela_...if that's even your real name."_

_She could scarcely move, and shouted for her guards. Her unwanted guest only laughed at her._

_"No use there, darling...I sent 'em away so that I could talk to you without any extra ears listening."_

_"Then what do you want?" Athela said as she glared spitefully._

_He smirked again, closing his eyes and sighing. "You don't know how good it feels to hear that voice again...I'd thought for sure that it was gone forever until my pal comes strutting into the bar last night with you following 'im...It was like déjà-vu, 'cept it was completely real. I trust you know what I'm talking about?"_

_Athela shook her head._

_Going off track, he looked a bit more civilized. "My name's N'jaere Rahkah, pardon my hesitance to provide my full title...Yeah, see, I can talk big too...And I already know your name, as a matter of fact I know your name so well that it practically coincides with my own name straightforwardly. I'm sure you haven't a clue as to what I'm talking about...so I'll spare you the details." Approaching Athela, he walked in a circle around her, as so many had done. She knew why _this_ was, but when it came to this...Rahkah's vague mentions of other people she happened to be associated with, she was clueless. "I must say, and I'm sure your getting tired of hearing this on a daily basis, but you look _exactly_ like 'er."_

_"Like who?" She replied coyly._

_Rahkah continued to scrutinize her. "Now that's just sad, Athela...You _must_ be sick of getting complimented all the time to answer like _that_."_

_"It is not the compliments I am sick of, but when they come from someone like you-someone who I have been cautioned about, I tend to take the necessary steps to confirm that there are no underlying meanings behind the words."_

_"And so history repeats itself..." He muttered under his breath. "And what _exactly_ were you told about me?" Seeming extremely bored with it all, he waited with his stare centered somewhere above. _

_Athela shrugged. "What would you prefer first? Good, or horrible?"_

_"Whatever works."_

_"Well...firstly, I've heard that you are a great commander."_

_Rahkah smiled genuinely. _

_"But you are also a severe alcoholic, and..." She stopped to gather herself. "...a womanizer, which is why you can imagine my diffidence on you being here." Reconsidering instantly, she felt embarrassing heat flood her face, but found unexpectedly that Rahkah was actually laughing at what she had labeled him. He went on until Athela couldn't take any more of his derision. "I fail to see what makes it so humorous!" His amusement died down when she said this, and he shook off whatever was entertaining him so much and cleared his throat, going back to what appeared to be his "normal" self. There he stood for a drawn-out, uncomfortable moment, smiling like crazy, all the while watching Athela. "Look," she told him finally, "you need to leave now. I realize who you are, and how you would feel obligated to..._befriend_ me, or whatever it is that you do, but I'm telling you now that because of certain circumstances, being acquainted with you in any way would prove hazardous to my wellbeing."_

_Idly studying his one hand, Rahkah rolled his eyes. "You don't usually talk that way, do you?"_

_"I suppose I should ask you the same thing." She retorted curtly._

_"Some of my teenage years were spent hangin' around off-worlders...traders I guess...They taught me how to talk like the rest of the galaxy. Personally I think it's improved my charismatic nature even more." Without prior notice, he reached out and fingered Athela's hair, which startled her to a point where all she could do was remain unmoving. He withdrew quick enough, puzzlement and a sense of nostalgia clouding his features. "I remember..." Rahkah didn't end the sentence. "You have those eyes too."_

"What_?"_

"_The fire. You have that fire in your eyes that I remember like yesterday. If I didn't know better, I'd think that I was seeing a mirror image..." She gave him a weird look that begged answers, but he provided none of the sort. "Of course I _know_ how to be optimistic, mind you."_

"_What in the ancestors' name are you talking about?"_

_He came back to the present from somewhere very far away. "Oh, I'm sorry," his mouth hung open idiotically, "you wouldn't happen to have any...um...beverages of the, uh, alcoholic persuasion around here would you, Athela?" Rahkah looked over her shoulder, searching for something that did not exist. "I've been separated from such for a few more hours than I usually allow...and I don't really want to, you know, get sick all over your stuff or anything..."_

"_Sorry...I don't drink."_

"_Really." Another smirk. "We call it _living_, darling...and you obviously don't do much of it do you?"_

"_Well, not often...drinking I mean."_

"_You know." He mused, folding his arms again, and it was all Athela could do not to discern his large biceps. "You're not as cold. You have an easier grasp on life, unlike your good pal who won't stay off my case if you blab to him that I even stepped foot near this place. But, you know...I have a feeling that you won't, Athela. No. You're not like that, are you?" Chuckling, he repeated himself. "Are you?"_

_So this was what happened to all those who he had taken advantage of? Had they fallen under the same spell that she felt herself falling under? How did he do it! He hadn't even said anything on the subject and he was influencing her! Briefly, she wondered if a similar fate had became-_

"_You need to leave! I don't want you ever coming here again, or I _will_ tell him, and I _will_ lie about what exactly took place."_

"_Okay, okay! Calm down, I'll be on my way, I gotta pay a visit to another friend of mine anyway. Good meeting you though!"_

_Athela couldn't resist, she had to ask him a question that had been troubling her ever since she had first laid eyes upon him. "General Rahkah." She addressed, and he turned expectantly at his formal title. "How old are you?"_

"_Ah...so you _are_ curious..."_

"_Just answer the question!"_

"_Would you believe me if I said I was twenty-eight?"_

_Struggling to contain a snicker at his funny way of saying it, she shook her head, "Not for a minute."_

"Well then_." He spun on his heel in an outburst of false annoyance, but stopped just before leaving her. "I'll tell you what...If we talk some other time on your own terms, I'll give you the number. Maybe we'll meet up in some bar when you decide that you _do_ drink, and that you _want_ to see me. But, if you ever feel like talking to someone who understands things a bit more clearly, I _love_ listening to problems...and I have many _effective_ ways of curing all phases of gloom." With a mischievous quirk of his mouth, he disappeared from sight, and deep down, Athela was sure some small voice was telling her she should have let him stay._

_Typical...She scolded. Out of all the men that you see with physical power backing them, you pick the _one_ that harms people the most...How pathetically typical. _

Behind closed doors, Grievous contemplated the preceding events assiduously, reviewing each detail that may have implied the reason for the apparently different state of his new killer. And, when he put it that way, he denied it immediately, feeling uncomfortable with associating Athela with his own property in any sense. That was just disgusting. That was too far into the territory of a man who he would rather not think about, even though it was only a silhouette in his memory. All he remembered was that whoever it was had caused him unbearable angst, and that they hadn't cared at all. End of story. But, back to the matter on hand! The question of the hour: why had Athela seemed so diverted earlier? She was usually fairly good, but he had made her fall more times then she usually did in a regular week in that one session. So, what was the problem with her? Grievous paced, something he hadn't done in awhile. On that note, he hadn't allowed himself to stray into deep thought for a long time either. That was due to his devotion to Athela's proper fighting education no doubt. His hands were restless behind his back as he walked back and forth in a meaningless fashion across the lower level of his quarters. He stared at the floor while he went in a philosophical sort of way, and he did not look up until much later. The first thing that his cold eyes landed on was the undisclosed panel up above that concealed his private room. Well, it was only _partially_ private, because anyone who knew the command ship's makeup knew that it existed, and Dooku had probably been in there more times than Grievous knew about. Therefore, he could only assume that it was truly "secret" to most of the droids, and as expected, Athela. He went off his strait course and ascended the staircase. Over near the panel, there were week-old blood stains from her hands on the floor, but further inspection made him alarmed of something else. Something more serious, entirely.

There were marks along the side of the panel, where one would pull it closed.

Pushing the panel inward in an enraged haste, Grievous ducked inside. Running his hand along the wall, he triggered the lights, an eerie green, and spun around to gaze at the floor below.

The streaks of blood were there.

He hurried to the computers and bent down to where he could see the keys clearly. Horrified, he reached down a finger and touched one of the buttons that was unnaturally colored.

Athela had been here.

She knew about him.

**Oooh...someone's in trouble. Just a heads up, I just rewrote chapter one, and I think it came out better than the original. You should all check it out pronto!**


	38. Bleed

**Hello for the thirty-eighth time, my fellow readers and writers. From the start, I would like to thank my two reviewers...Namely, Master Crane, who has read and reviewed for who-knows-how-long, and the one other individual: HallovveenGirl who seems to be on a consistent reviewing pattern. So thanks a million you guys! You were the only ones out of all the people to read this story in the recent past to review. LET THIS BE A LESSON TO ALL YOU MYSTERIOUS LURKERS OUT THERE! Here, we have another big information giver of a chapter-which also happened to make me super sad while I wrote it-so try not to breeze through it too quickly or you might miss some little details. Oh...I also feel the need to mention that the stuff that happens in this chapter and the following chapters-specifically the certain hostile situations between species-never happened in the Clone Wars, or any other time in Star Wars history...I'm just havin' a bit 'o' fun with the concept, so please no flames! Enjoy and review if you want to see more of this story!**

**Chapter 38~Bleed**

_I am going to murder her..._Were his thoughts as he raced against the dawn. _She is dead..._

The sun was rising for too fast in Grievous's opinion on Uvena Prime, which was the next world that the Republic was going to try and "convert". Two of his spies, the most trusted ones he possessed, had informed him of it, and he had moved quickly to secure a stable aerial position above the planet to prevent an enemy invasion. The problem was, that the Shistavanens, the canine race that occupied the said planet, were extremely antagonistic to outsiders...plus, Athela had gone missing.

_After all these months, one would think that she would know better..._He growled loudly, annoyed more than anything. She _would_ go off on her own after he had specifically told her not too! The nerve of that woman sometimes! And now she was going to get herself killed and Grievous would be blamed for it. Of all the insolent beings in the galaxy...he had chosen not to take her life and brought this upon himself!

It had been about four to five months since his startling discovery, and he still hadn't said anything to her about it. He had been able to tell that she was guilty though all through the passed time. For instance, when she spoke to him, she never looked him directly in the eye. And, sometimes, when there was no one else around, they would discuss tactics-most of which he decided, since she was obviously so uneducated in that particular field-and she would put forth an effort to stay as far away from him as she could without making clear what she was doing. Unfortunately for her, Grievous was _very_ talented at picking up things like that from all his years in the military. In any case, he had a few choice words to express when he found her. Hopefully she hadn't gotten herself into a problematical situation, because the Shistavanens didn't take kindly to any form of unfriendly contact. At least she was unarmed; he still refused to give her any weapons, being the wary sort he was. The cyborg himself never left his lightsabers off his person for long, however, knowing full well the consequences such a foolish action could bring. Yes, he had learned after so much time that traveling about in a vulnerable state proved vastly dangerous. Thus another reason he had to chastise Athela when she turned up.

Grievous encountered not a single inhabitant of the planet as he ran through the dawn-lit jungles, avoiding rocks and fallen trees just waiting to trip him up. Who knew what would happen if that were to occur. He could just picture it: the moment he fell he would find himself surrounded by those the offworlders referred to as "Wolfmen", as a result being required to kill them all, and in one fell swoop murdering any chances he had of fulfilling his given mission. And that was his conclusions when he was in a positive mind frame. Everything just went down hill from there. He had no guards with him-having left them behind thinking it was a shrewd move on his part-and the territory was getting more and more unfamiliar. It was nothing like the scouts he had sent out described; he was beyond the protected Confederacy barriers. Small, curious animals appeared every so often, possessing large eyes in comparison to their bodies and harboring a distinct rodent-like look to them. They struggled to get out of the way of his sharp feet, but he hadn't the time to notice or care.

Then, as if they had appeared out of nowhere, there were two enormous dog creatures running on either side of him. He could hear their ragged breath and their feet pounding along the ground, loping on all fours. Claws larger than Grievous's ripped up the earth behind them-jaws with monstrous teeth bared when they looked his way. They both wore crude garments, lengths of cloth fastened around one shoulder that hung below the waste. He stopped, and the two Shistavanens slowed, approaching him in unison. One, a gargantuan male with black fur, raised himself up onto his hind legs, meeting Grievous's height. He locked gazes with the general, black, soulless eyes equally enraged. Grievous, not wishing to make the circumstances any more unreceptive than they were turning out to be, raised his hands very slowly, signaling his peaceful intentions. He dared not reach for his lightsabers. The dark Wolfman's nose twitched as he seemed to sniff the intruder, his face furrowing afterwards. He looked to his comrade, whose fur wasn't as dark, and the other male crouched down lower animalisticlly. From him came a deep, growling voice, more gravelly than that of the cyborg.

"You have no scent..." He said with difficulty, flexing his wicked fingers. "What is your business here?"

Grievous stood his ground, unperturbed by the ferocity of the second Shistavanen. "I come in the name of the Confederacy, in hopes of including Uvena Prime in the growing list of worlds under the protection of the Separatist Armies. I am their General and Supreme Commander."

He was studied intently, an air of disgust coming over the two. "There is much pride in your voice..." And before Grievous could breathe a sigh of relief, "That is considered an insult to our race here..."

"I am looking for someone." Grievous said sharply before further explanation could be made. The brown-furred canine stood up next to the black one and communicated something in an odd barking noise. "What did he say?" He snapped, just as biting.

Both of them growled at the supposed intruder, vicious in every definition. But all the same, the one who spoke basic elucidated. "Is the one you seek a woman...?"

"Yes." Replied Grievous in somewhat of a grumble, not wanting to admit it fully, even if they wouldn't care. He still had a reputation...

"Foeh said that she has your voice...And that she is not far...But whether we lead you to her is up to you..."

Grievous wouldn't risk it. He had to find her quickly. "What must I do?"

Athela knew it had been an imprudent effort when she had left the base under cover of darkness. She wanted badly to prove herself; to show the cyborg that she wasn't as hopeless as she seemed to him. With wanting to go home so greatly, she had decided to take matters into her own hands and try to confront the so-called Shistavanens without the company of Grievous. It was suicidal, she told herself over and over, but it would also score her some big responsibility points. Well...it was also partly because she enjoyed being out in the fresh air so much, it made her think irrationally. Being cooped up inside the tedious command ship for month after month had taken its toll on her. She loved the feeling of the grass, and the atmosphere of the jungle planet, so close to that of her homeworld. The sounds of the birds and forest creatures had truly brought her back to life...if only she didn't have to return with Grievous. The lively environment had renewed her ache to go home, and her actions reflected it more than she could ever realize. It had been fairly easy, getting past the guards. Droids were dumb enough as it was, and with her instinctive flair for moving silently, it was far easier then doing so on the ship any day. The notion of even _trying_ to escape-even though she was planning on coming back-after what had happened the last time would have sickened her, naturally, but something felt _right_ about it, so she acted on impulse.

It had all gone so fast from there on out. She had been moving rather quickly, scared that the sun would be up before she reached wherever she was going, when suddenly she had been encountered by a dozen or so natives, all large dog-like things that stood much taller than she. One, and only one, had known basic, but it was broken and confusing. They had understood her quite well, but didn't grasp what she was trying to do. To them, apparently she had looked like someone who was sent to kill, and not to make peace. Try as she did, she wasn't able to convince them, and was hence escorted to a small commune in which all of her captors lived. They took her into a house, or so she assumed, made primitively of some sort of dirt. Without fear, she had faced the head of the group, surprised by her own boldness. He had been by far the largest and most brutal looking, but as far as first impressions were concerned, he didn't meet them fully. His name, she had learned, was Brayzah Fon. His fur color was gray, tipped in silver, and close up it was clear that he had lived a long time. Unable to speak basic-which Athela had predicted far back-there had been brought out a translator of sorts, turning out to be the Shistavanen she had spoken to earlier when she had first been confronted. It was a long process of stating and restating the facts, but finally something had seemed to click. Athela had at last effectively done something right for the Confederacy. If only Grievous had been able to see her then!

And then the general had showed up, as if by some telepathic call.

Seeing him made Athela lose most of her happiness, because he looked a degree of livid that she had only seen him look on one other occasion: when he had been punishing her for attempting to run the first time. When he saw her, he stiffened to a great extent, and his fingers started to move excessively. He was flanked by two Shistavanens, one black as night, and one a dark brown. It looked as though he had wound up in the same predicament as the Kaleesh woman had. Athela watched, and the black canine raised a hand and gestured vaguely in her direction. Grievous nodded, and they both backed away from him. He stormed towards Athela so rapidly that she hardly had time to react, until the pain she was expecting never came. Brayzah Fon had emerged from the darkness of the simple structure behind her, placing himself in between the general and his assassin. A series of barks, growls and whines followed, and the translator hurried to process what was being said. Slowly but surely, it was explained to Grievous what had happened in the early hours of the morning, but his anger only declined a small amount. Athela, finding a safe point to step around the Shistavanen clan leader, approached Grievous without considering him, and stopped in front of where he stood. She waited to be recognized, either in good or bad context, but no such regard ever came.

"I did this for you..." She said at last, raising her head. He was unreadable, and waited tolerantly for her to continue. "I..." Athela fought to gain composure. "I wanted to prove myself..."

All of the dog creatures around the two of them observed in haunting silence, some on two legs, some one four. The young ones remained in tight bunches, but were fascinated all the same. It was obvious that their interest in the exchanges between both intruders went further than it had originally appeared. They viewed the scene with black eyes unblinking, and large ears straight. While the smaller female offworlder shifted her weight from one foot to the other incessantly, the larger, mechanical being was motionless, his demonic golden eyes fixed on his co-conspirator in a stare that hid not his disbelief. After many tense moments devoid of sound, save for the regular chorus of birds in the gigantic trees surrounding the settlement, the taller one turned without a single word and took an abrupt and unexpected leave, not looking back.

Taken aback, Athela had no clue what to do. She wasn't sure how long she remained in the Shistavanen camp, but when the time came for her to leave, she was presented a gift for her efforts. The native people sympathized with her, although it was not the most common thing for them to do. They were a poor race, much like the Kaleesh in some ways, and had nothing ornate to give her, but when Brayzah Fon, the clan leader gave her a sizable, green, glass bottle full of some type of indefinite hard drink, she had no intentions of refusing. Immediately upon stepping foot out of the commune, she raised the bottle to her mouth and took a large drink. The liquid burned her throat, but she didn't care. Athela walked aimlessly through the jungle, her mind going from grim possibility to grim possibility. As the minutes ticked on, her vision blurred, and she sank down onto a log, placed the bottle on the ground beside her, and dropped her head into her hands, shutting out everything around her. However long she had been in the camp was long enough for the sun to begin to set, which said a lot considering that when she had arrived it was only past dawn. Sighing deeply, she continued to bide her time, very bleakly at that, until the green bottle, once full, was almost empty. Rising to her feet, she wrapped her fingers around the neck of her reward, the best thing that had come of the whole exploit, and little by little made her way back to the Confederacy's ground base.

Grievous's reaction crossed her restless deliberations often. All she could see was that retaining look he had had in his eyes when she had confessed her rationale for doing what she did. Or...not? Of course not! She did it solely for herself. The cyborg had nothing whatsoever to do with it! Not knowing what he was thinking was bad enough, but having to face him again when there weren't so many onlookers made Athela feel like everything she had accomplished had been a complete waste. So that was what he had in mind then...to not bring it up before the coast was clear, then let her have it. She pictures what the pain would be like, worse than before presumably. If he _was_ truly angered to a point of abuse, there was only one way to deal with it.

She had to go and see him on her own.

_I should have told him about myself by now...But it probably wouldn't have made a difference anyway_...Athela thought, taking a drink from the bottle for the last time as a delirious tear slowly slid down her face.

The sounds of the planet at night had lulled Grievous into a restful trance, which was after all what he was supposed to be doing anyway. Much like what had been on the last planet he had been ordered to, he had found himself a chair and decided to unwind for an hour at the least. Strange...for one who always wanted to be moving around. In the part of his mind that was still alert, he wondered what had become of Athela. After finding out that her intentions were not to try and run away again after all, he hadn't known how to react. At the thought of her, he began to ponder when exactly he was going to tell her that he knew that she knew, if the concept even made logical sense. It was like something there, at the tips of his fingers, and he could not reach it physically nor emotionally, lest he cause further harm. The feeling was horrible-because there truly was no feeling. Grievous should be able to experience something in being aware that he was within a foot of her some days, that all he would have to do was..

What was that?

It felt as if someone had dropped something in his lap. His eyes were closed, and he did not want to open them, but if it were important...

Cracking one eye only just, he tilted his head downward to see what it was, and his breath caught in the remains of his throat. She was draped across him, an expression of complete and utter obliviousness plastered all over her face. One hand had managed to find its way up onto his massive shoulder, and there her fingers stayed to provide support, and in the other hand, she held a large empty bottle. She was slobbering drunk, and Grievous felt responsible for it.

The mere awkwardness of the situation would have naturally drove him up the nearest wall, and then he probably would have started beating her up again in attempt to knock some sense into her inebriated skull. But, somehow, seeing her so defenseless struck a chord in him, and he let her remain where she was, uncomfortable or not. She peered up at him with a bemused sort of look, the kind that he would have expected from one of the half-wit operatives back up on his ship, and he back at her with something near to pity. She really did look terrible, like she had been losing sleep and mentally suffering with something. Her eyes were dulled, in that they were drained of their usual verve for life, and the sarcastic way she had about her was all but dead. Her hair was a mess, and fell all over her face in a tangled nest of sorts. It hit him hard. It shouldn't have. But it did. He lifted a hand to her head and roughly cleared the hair out of her eyes, something he would never have been caught doing under normal circumstances, and then he removed the bottle from her grasp. Helplessly trying to retrieve it from him when he had done so, Athela whimpered and shifted, her arm falling from his shoulder and wrapping around her own self. She nearly fell to the ground, but found a hold on the center of Grievous's arm, where the armorplast converged together. It was sick, watching her behave the way she was; not in a disgusting fashion, but in an emotionally distressed way. Cold or not, the psychological blow it had on him was tremendous, though he did not show it.

"I clearly made a mistake," he stated grimly, "in leaving you there on your own..."

Athela laughed blearily. "S'okay N'jaere...You wan'ed this anyway..."

Once again, his breath caught. His neck stiffened, and his talons moved against the ground agitatedly. She had known who _he_ was? She had known who _HE_ was? That was _impossible_! Even with the little Grievous remembered, it dawned on him that he had never left her the opportunity even _once_ to come in contact with the man she spoke of! And so the only thing that he was able to produce from his vocabulator was a very strained, "_What did you call me_?"

She went on to explain, gesturing wildly. "Done ask stupid quesions tha' you done have the answers to, General Rahkah...I know you better than that..."

Knowing how serious this had become in a matter of moments, Grievous caught both her wrists in one large hand and held them above her, staring at her with a half-angry, half-desperate look in his eyes. "I am not who you think I am. Look at me-I bear no resemblance whatsoever to that man!"

"Your buddy General Sheelal? Of course ya do...Your him...or are you Rahkah...?" She looked around her in puzzlement. "Who'm I then?"

At the use of the name that he had so long ago renounced, Grievous was surprisingly able to keep his tone even.

"I can tell you that I am neither. And you, right now, need to go get some sleep."

Appearing like she would melt away if she left, her eyes filled with tears and she clung to him like a child would to a parent. Her head rested against his torso and her whole body began to rack with sobs. He did nothing, and let her go. It had to wear off eventually...didn't it?

"I know you! I know you!" She shouted, slamming her fist into him weakly. He chose to ignore the droids who paused to stare in the distance. "I needed you and you weren't there! You were never there! Why couldn't you make more of an effort for me? I thought you felt something! And now look where its got me!" Pressing the side of her head harder into the left side of his chest plate, her arms coiled around his back, and in one last imploring try, she said, "Don't ever leave me again! Don't ever walk out that door again!"

The skin around his eyes creased with anguish. So this was what he had done to her...

Shaking his head, unable to share her sorrow, he remained resentful; cold as ice. "I am in no position to make those kind of promises." He said in a low voice, his words drawn together with sinisterness, and forsaking any shred of compassion he might have had previous to that moment, he bolted to his feet. Athela had no way of preparing herself for it, and hit the ground hard, reminding Grievous of a similar time many months back. Looking around unfocusedly, she whimpered again, and stayed where she was. "So..." He went on, hulking over her. There was nothing left to hide, she had just admitted in a indistinct way that she knew about him. What was there to hide, then? "You have lied to me..._All_. _This_. _Time_." The words each ended callously. "All this time..." He repeated, slower, "...you have known who I am and said nothing?"

"No! No!" Athela cried, her fingers clenching and unclenching in a panic. "I've never done anything to you! You can't kill me _now_!"

"Is your true name Athela Erihdiy?" Grievous went on, regardless of her unwillingness to answer and evidently powerless state. She said nothing, miserable where she lied. He growled deeply and kicked her hard in the side. Athela winced and her arms circled around her skull. "_Is your true title what you claim_?"

"I swore not to tell!" She screamed, "I swore to the elder! I _swore_ I'd never tell!"

He kicked her again, hard enough to move her and draw blood at the same time. He didn't care. "Answer the question!" By that moment in time, his bodyguards had arrived on the scene, hearing their master angered. Other battle droids ambled up as well to see what was causing the commotion, and watched unresponsively as the woman on the ground curled into a tight ball, dry heaving as blood poured from the cut in her side. "_ANSWER THE QUESTION_!" Even some of the inexpressive machines recoiled at the mere volume at which their general spoke. He raised his hand with the bottle in it and smashed it down onto her. Green pieces of glass flew every which way, many remaining stuck in Athela's skin. She shouted things frantically in her own language, just as both of Grievous's fists found their mark on her exposed shoulder. The sharp coverings on his hands tore open her flesh effortlessly...

"You never learned how to let go!" Was what she had said in the Kaleesh dialect, and he grasped the meaning perfectly well. He paused in his endeavors, temporarily caught somewhere in the past; somewhere that he wanted desperately to bring to mind, but found he couldn't. When Athela discovered that he had momentarily stopped, she gazed up at him faintly, looking worse than she had when he had injured her before. There was so much blood around her..."You never learned..." She said, her tearstained face tormented. "N'jaere told me what happened-it hurt...I never knew." Grievous had been about to strike her yet for a fourth time at the mention of his nemesis, but at her declaration, he couldn't. Everything she had said had been in her own language, leaving the droids confused, every one of them. Glancing up at his alleged soldiers, the general could not form the words to express what he wanted to say. His actions were the closest things to words he had-he needed to know why he couldn't understand what she was talking about.

"Is Athela Erihdiy your real name?" He asked for what he hoped to be the final time, the first bit the droids could actually comprehend. To them, he was simply continuing on with his brutal interrogation, standing firmly upon the blood-splattered earth. To him, it had become more then just that.

"I...I...I can't..." She mumbled, still unaware of what she was saying.

"No. You _will_ tell me." Stated Grievous determinedly, quiet enough so that none of the onlookers could hear. "And if you do not, I will carry on with my prior, hostile methods and _force_ the truth out of your sorry mouth."

Athela went pale, mouth in a taut line at his threat. Her eyes lit up with horror, and she breathed so swiftly it was like she had recently ran a great distance without rest. It was most implausible, but she actually stood, hunched over, but on her feet nonetheless. Struggling significantly, she straitened her back, and with one hand, ripped the large fragments of glass from the other arm without so much as a stray curse. Blinded by inebriation and adrenaline, she crushed her fingers into fists, looked Grievous strait in the eye and told him what he wanted to know. "Only..._partially_."

"**What now?" You may ask...Well, my friends, I'm debating on several ideas. One of them **_**has**_** to be put in the next chapter, but I am at a loss of what to do. A year or so ago, I thought that what **_**might**_** happen was an ingenious idea, but now I'm not to sure it'll work out. It's all dependent on you. Review and the mystery will hopefully be revealed in chapter 39...I want all of you mysterious people to review! Seriously! ANONYMOUS REVIEWS ARE YOUR FRIENDS! The next update is dependent on you...**


	39. Forever and Always

**LOOOONG 10000+ WORD COMPLICATED CHAPTER AHEAD. **_**Sorry**_** for the over-a-month wait; school tends to confound things...I got a suggestion that another flashback from the G-dawg is in order (Oh, and thank you my two reviewing people. You know who you are! If I knew you both in real life, I'm sure we would all be real chums!). So, I was sitting randomly in bed on my laptop at six in the morning-I was hungry and couldn't sleep, you see-and I started listening to this really powerful, affecting song called "Dead Inside", by Skillet, who is my all time favorite band right now...for more reasons than one ^-^ hehehe...Anyway, I got the title of this chapter from a line in that song, because it struck me as...well, fitting. There'll also be a significant role played by a certain female counterpart of Grievous's from his past...I think you all know who I'm talking about. Yay! Won't that be fun...? You'll notice her name is not mentioned even once in the actual flashbacks (and trust me, there is a lot of them), but it is for the obvious reason: Grievous had limited access to specifics. I figured that, because of this, the general would still possess his original name, if indeed, I still remember the spelling correctly. And this is before he ever met Athela, just so you know...This was very enjoyable to write, mostly because I finally get to include a ton of stuff from the "before story" that's kinds of just been sitting in a folder on my computer for a couple years...Apologies in advance for any confusion you may or may not face!**

**One final note: "..." indicates that a flashback switches to a different one **_**abruptly**_**. I sure hope it worked or you're up the river without a paddle!**

**So without further delay!**

**REVIEW...the end of this is near.**

**Chapter 39~Forever and Always**

"What, may I be so bold to ask, _is_ your real name then?" Grievous, though impatient, had lowered his voice in attempt to convince her that his intentions were no longer hostile as long as she was willing to cooperate.

Shuddering, Athela answered, "Not...not here." She strained herself to get the words out of her throat. "_They_ will hear me."

Initially, the cyborg thought that she was referring to the droids surrounding them, but he noticed she had raised her head to the skies. He followed her eyes upwards, wondering what exactly she could be trying to convey to him. There was obviously so much more to the woman than he ever had known...

She walked past him in evident pain and dizziness, expecting him to join her in wherever she was going. The droids went to come as well, but Grievous threatened them harshly, and lurked after his 'assassin'-who hadn't even killed anyone yet! In normal circumstances, he would have punished her for simply walking away without permission. The circumstances had long gone far beyond _normal_. Whatever she was about to tell him had to be important, and so he supposed that he would do anything in his power to find out what was wrong with her. Or rather, why she had always possessed a familiarity that went further than a past association. There was _something_ about her that he was sure he had seen before he ever had made her acquaintance. Watching her from behind, he noticed how much she struggled. Blood from her side and shoulder ran all the way down her leg. It heard her to move, that much was obvious. Seeing this made Grievous suddenly have a very detailed collection of flashbacks to his primordial self. It was not in the form of a dream, but instead an out-of-body experience that seemed too meticulous to be mere coincidence. Something...or someone had granted him the memory...

Just as he stopped and his consciousness to everything around him began to fade, Athela looked back at him.

_The sun rose in a display of reds and other various shades, filling the sky with color. General Qymaen jai Sheelal emerged from his temporary abode, wreathed in indifference and darkened by his own muscular glory. His thick black hair fell dauntingly down past his broad shoulders, framing his evenly chiseled, yet scarred face, and a thick strap of leather crossed his chest, holding as many rounds of ammo as it could. Soldiers turned their heads; eyes raked hungrily over him, taking him in. It was all excepted in stride, and the general nearly stretched out his arms jadedly and flexed to add to the effect, but this was not the time. There was too much to think about and an overabundance of anxiety around the military encampment to be wasting time with pointless flaunting. After all, that was what the victory celebrations were for anyway..._

_Qymaen allowed his gaze to sweep the warriors one last time before moving on. He walked intently towards the improvised "war room", in the form of yet another large tent located in the direct middle of the site. His expression remained indignant throughout the whole short promenade there, until the unmistakable voice of one of his comrades brought him back._

_"Sheelal!" A male tone called. It was moderately pitched, and harbored unmistakable traces of a mischievously obnoxious side. Qymaen pulled to a stop and glanced expectantly behind him. N'jaere viir Rahkah sauntered towards him, his forest of black dreadlocks seemingly untangled for once-undoubtedly he was anticipating the coming undertakings as well. When Rahkah reached him, it was all Qymaen could do to stop coveting him and getting back to the topic on hand. This man was a god in mortal form... _

_"Rahkah." He greeted. "I trust you slept well?"_

_The general smirked characteristically. "Not a wink"-and Qymaen wondered vaguely if that was supposed to give implication to any _other_ reasons why Rahkah would be losing sleep-"You?"_

_"I did...some. You know how I am...My mind is always flowing with tactics, which is what I wanted to run by you before Dau-Maz asks."_

_"Ah," Rahkah said, motioning for his comrade to follow, "walk with me." _

_"The plans Karivasi's spy retrieved from the Huk base camp can be easily misinterpreted." Qymaen began, catching Rahkah's attention at the mention of their fellow commander's spy. The older man nodded for him to go on. "I have been trying to learn some basic enemy dialect, and in my studies discovered that their word for 'mountain' can also be translated as merely a 'hill'." _

_Rahkah's eyes widened. "So you're saying that their attack point could be different then we assume? Where?"_

_He looked thoughtful. "I can not be sure, but the Northern Plains would be my estimate because-"_

_"They are covered in hills!" Rahkah finished. "The bloody parasites would have places to shield themselves!"_

_"Exactly. So, my proposal is that we outflank them directly from behind, if indeed they are going to be there, and not the original location we imagined. We would use their own tactics against them, and exploit the hills to our advantage."_

_Nodding again, but more enthusiastically, the other general smiled fully. "Well don't tell me, Sheelal! Wait until we get to Dau-Maz! He'll want to here this!" Rahkah picked up the pace, his dreads swinging back and forth around his neck, with Qymaen following closely behind. With a single fluid hand motion, Rahkah summoned a young man, a scout only in his teens. "Run to General Dau-Maz as fast as your little legs can carry you. Tell him that the plans have changed. We're not taking our regiments to the mountains, but rather the Eastern Plains. Tell him quickly and I'll make sure you're rewarded!"_

_"Yessir."_

_The scout took off rapidly, and Qymaen's eyes followed him until he disappeared. "Rahkah, what if they already left? What if-"_

"_General!" A voice interrupted him, and both men turned to acknowledge whoever it was. "Er, General _Sheelal_."_

_Qymaen stepped forward, throwing Rahkah a humorously arrogant look. "Captain." He said. "What have you to say? So close to battle one would think that you would be with your men."_

_The Captain tensed, but said confidently all the same: "My Sergeant saw a Huk spy in the trees. We shot at it, but it got away sir. I am sorry, sir." _

_Qymaen dismissed the apology with a wave of his hand. "Did you follow it?"_

"_No, sir. We feared an early attack if we did so without orders." _

_"While that is all good and well, if they in any way overheard the ploy General Rahkah and I just exchanged, we are in for a tough ride."_

_"Sheelal," Rahkah put, tension clouding his voice. "We gotta go. Dau-Maz'll be waiting if the little guy told 'im. The sooner we get to the plains the better."_

_With recognition, Qymaen agreed and sent off the Captain to gather his troops. He and Rahkah then went on their way, catching the attention of preparing soldiers. One by one, Qymaen's guards-all elite with special ops training-formed a group behind him, their long spears held on an angle across their torsos. Ly-khn, the leader among them, spoke of unrest within the general's ranks; his contingents were nervous. That was to be expected, at the very least. On the eave of battle, even he, himself became rather antsy about what was to come. He assured Ly-khn that he would handle it in due time. Rahkah reminded him that time was the only thing he didn't have, to which Qymaen replied that he would make time, for his troops were his priority. Then Rahkah had gone on to suggest other things that he should 'make time for', but his comments were ignored...as they rightly should have been._

_When at last the two generals and royal elite guards arrived at the main military headquarters, they were greeted by four of the other commanders. Only one was missing, it seemed. All of them nodded in greeting, except for one of the more outspoken ones, Aavok._

"_Well, if it isn't the two _social butterflies_. 'Can't say I'm surprised." Aavok mused, ignoring the disdainful looks from his equals. "Though Sheelal, I wouldn't have thought that you would be coming in here with _Rahkah_...I never thought I'd see the day when his life of women suddenly swerved onto a twisted path...Since when have you two been living it up?" _

"_General Aavok!" Dau-Maz shouted, "Would you kindly shut up!"_

_"Well excuse me for breathing, sir!" He went silent._

_Dau-Maz exhaled, and looked at the newcomers. "The scout told me. Do you really believe it is worth the risk, Sheelal?"_

_It took him a moment. He felt anxious, for once in his life, about answering such a potentially disappointing question. But at last..._

_"Yes." He said with confidence in his tone. "Yes I truly believe that this will succeed."_

_Aavok scoffed. "Somebody's a little full of it this morning..."_

_"Shut your face, Aavok." A person spoke from the entrance. All heads turned, and when Qymaen saw who the individual was, he blinked inexpressively. A woman stood there, glowering at Aavok intimidatingly. She was tall, sinewy and had a face that openly displayed her disgust whether she wanted it to or not. A scar ran through her right eye, ugly to some, but to most all the more increasing to the amount of fury she showed. She wore all brown, a shade that contrasting her skin. Beside Qymaen, Rahkah chuckled lowly under his breath, half-smirking and very much disturbing the general next to him. She continued, advancing toward Aavok, and the man actually flinched back. "I do not see you losing sleep over battle plans. All you do is sit there!" Violently gesturing at him with fingers bent into claws, she ignored those who watched her. "You. Should not. Be talking!" She bent over him, looking ready to tear his head off. "Am I clear?" She hissed._

_He nodded sporadically, and in the background, Dau-Maz watched with his mouth ajar. She then casually strode over to Qymaen and took her place between him and Rahkah, her eyes boring holes into Aavok to make her point. There was silence for a moment, Dau-Maz seemed perturbed to a point where speech had evaded him. It wasn't as if they had no clue how aggressive she was_

"_Was that _completely_ necessary?" Qymaen said in an undertone. "Because I think you may have done more damage than service..."_

"_Save it." She snapped back, not cruelly, but with enough force to silence him._

_Rahkah leaned down slightly in her direction and praised in an evenly quiet cackle, "Way to go on the aggression. Remind me to buy you a drink later." Everything about her small change in posture said that she would have ripped his face open, but for now, she directed her smoldering eyes at him. He looked away for a second, and muttered, "Sorry..."_

_Qymaen wanted to say something, but held his tongue, for fear of causing an uproar. While Dau-Maz rambled on about one thing or another, his mind was elsewhere. There had been..._rumors_, and Rahkah's sudden assertion had aroused all the more ill feelings within the confines of Qymaen's dark soul. As he watched the godfather of Rahkah inform all of them of last minute details before they all headed out, he couldn't help but notice that the godson was looking at his counterpart out of the corner of his eye. It made him edgy..._

_..._

_Something had snapped. Qymaen felt cold fury arise in him, his eyes burning with intense hatred and lust for murder. But there was nothing left to kill, a small voice within told him. What had happened? Everything seemed so blurred to him. It was windy; below, the waves surged, foretelling a storm's arrival. There were bodies, so many bodies. Had he killed all of them? Of course he had! They were the enemy, and he was the one protecting his homeworld! But why did everything feel wrong? His hair whipped around him, as did his cloak, torn and bloodstained. He stared out over the great ocean that spanned farther than the horizon. Dark clouds were coming, rolling in swiftly. The sensation that something terrible was about to happen did not go away. Overcome with incomprehension, he looked down at his hands._

_They were covered in blood..._

_...and it was not from those he had killed._

_Then, he saw._

_There, on the ground below him, gasping in a pool of blood, was one from his own race. A female, as it were. He knew her. He knew her...What was happening? He dropped down beside her-how had he not seen her before? Maybe he had. He wasn't sure. He didn't even know where he was or why he was there! The dying woman lay on her side, and with a steady hand, he evenly grasped her shoulder and rolled her onto her back. It was a terrible, gory sight. Deep gashes and fissures covered her body. She bled to death before him. Her vicious eyes flicked skyward, then to him. He was at once, affected. Straight away, he remembered who he was and why he felt so utterly dazed. _

_She raised a broken, trembling hand and placed it over his own._

_"You are hurt." Her voice was quiet. "They injured you..."_

_There was no response that would come to him._

_"Time has run out. It seems as though death has finally come upon me...I will meet it with open arms..."_

_His face was impassive and hard, but his eyes betrayed his remorse. There was nothing he could do, but that did not mean that he accepted it. He forced himself to stay in the disposition of the general and leader he was, and said at last, "War is cruel. Life is merciless. But the afterlife...is where everything becomes perfect again." With his free hand, he traced a finger over the scar on her face, swearing on no account to forget it. It was a gesture of profound respect. "I will never forgive myself."_

_She knew he spoke the truth._

_"No one is stronger than death."_

_Her point fell upon deaf ears. "You are..."_

_"No...I am not...Not now...not now..." The deliverance were barely discernable. "Listen to me...You must go on alone...There is still much that you have yet to accomplish...All I ask of you is that when you destroy all life in your path...Kill them all, for me..."_

_It took him less than a heartbeat to make the promise. "Forever and always." _

_"Say the words."_

_He protested silently, well aware of what it meant._

_"Say them..." She repeated._

_A strangled exhale. His eyes closed. "'The gods' will is not to be faulted. Our sacred deities foresaw this day in which the soul and the body part eternally. Your sacrifice will be revered evermore, and your efforts to ameliorate the cause of our race will never be disregarded. The life you have lived will be a undying reminder, unbroken and immaculate. Our dead ones have not given their lives in vain; the fired to claim their bodies were not lit without the greatest esteem we can give. Their spirits did not perish from this world. Over these lands the blood of our war-brothers' flowed, and it is the same with you now. May the hereafter honor you in the way your decent will'." The discourse he spoke was strictly prohibited but for the gallant beings who were to become divinities after death. _

_When he had finished, he opened his eyes._

_Immediately, he knew that she was gone._

_There were trails down her face where the tears had run..._

_..._

_"I swear...on my _life_...that I will hunt you and show you slaughter! I will _burn_ your worlds and turn this system into a river of blood...if it is the _last-thing_ I do in this time!"_

_His solemn, agonized vow echoed in his own ears. He was falling...Falling down, down, down..._

_The consciousness of an impact with the cold oceanic waters struck him as he awoke. He could still see the thunderous waves around him as he struggled to keep his head above the raging sea. His lungs ached for air, and he felt heavy. He lay on his back, gazing up at the ceiling; his vision glassy and indistinct. He coughed, choking on the brackish consistency that followed. Grit coated his tongue-sand, no doubt, from a collision with the shallow ocean floor. His black, plaited hair-also caked with sand-hung to one side in a tangled mess, and most of the shells in his bandolier were missing._

_One arm, draped over his chest limply, clasped something; something cold. He lifted it weakly up before his eyes. _

_It was the medallion._

_How he had managed to save it between the frequent waves coercing him underwater and the struggle for inhalations was further than his present frame of mind would allow. He assumed he had, in some way, ripped the chain from around her neck as he lost his grip, but that still didn't explain why he came to indoors without knowing why. His free hand absently trailed along the slashed lower section of his right ear, seemingly in better condition then when he had last checked. His damaged back had been tended to as well, though not nearly as well as he would have thought necessary. He supposed that in that the distress of his arrival, that whoever was treating him had simply given pain killers without binding up his whole torso._

_The object in his hand shimmered, the beads of water that lingered on it reflecting the light from the small window above his head. With a circular frame and a shape in the center comparable to a star, it was one of the strangest and unique designs he had ever seen. It was because of that object that the brandings had been formed-each of the commanders had one, or in a couple of their cases, two or three, depending on class or aptitude. He would never be sure where it had come from. _Another question I should have asked_...He thought to himself._

_He hacked again, calling the attention of an elderly man; a healer. He was scrutinized with wonder, and a smile formed on the aged face._

"_General Qymaen jai Sheelal," he was told. "The gods have spared you once more..." _

_Qymaen, confused and faint, replied. "What happened to me? I feel...cold...Why?" _

_The healer blinked a few times. "You know not? Well then I am terribly sorry to inform you that we know no more than the obvious...General T'lit'ko became concerned when you did not return, so he went out to find you. When he arrived at the place he last saw you, there was only an area of bloody grass. He searched, and eventually, finding your unconscious body washed up on the shore."_

"_But that is not possible...I swam-I made it to the shore." _

_"That was not the case. You were brought back unconscious and wounded. I have done all I can for you, but, you must know, the damage will be permanent; the scars everlasting..."_

_Qymaen was at a loss. "Please, tell me-was another body found?"_

_The healer looked at the general with a sullen gaze. "I am sorry, blessed one...There was only you. May I ask who you seek?"_

_"My-comrade." He said, appending to that in a snarl. "She is...she is dead."_

"_A demigoddess? Able to die? Impossible."_

"_It apparently was achievable if it just happened!" Qymaen snapped, his anger rising. "Send word. My esteemed guard will take a regiment of my soldiers down to the beach and scourer it."_

"_But sir, the Huk-they will be back." The healer tried to reason._

_Qymaen would hear none of it. "Do as I say, shaman_!" _He ranted. "My standings with the gods are more prominent then yours_!"

_"I-it will be as you say, great one..."_

_He grunted an approval and turned his head away, straying back to happier time; a safer time. _

Safer time indeed_... Qymaen cogitated, one digit vaguely tracing the impressions in the solid gold pendant. If only that was the case with my soul... _

_He tried to get some sleep, to prepare himself for the next battle, but no matter how much he tried, he couldn't get the pictures of the dead, austere face out of his mind. Weighing the odds of continual aggressive accuracy, he came to the conclusion that he would never be the same when he fought ever again. The will had been all but driven from him, and the mere detail that he would have to face all of the incensed reactions of his peers didn't help the matter. Why would something like this happen to _him_ of all people? What had he done to deserve such torment?_

"_Hello, Sheelal."_

_Speak of the devil..._

"_Hm," the indignant Kaleesh commander huffed, clutching the medallion tighter. His temper had just been made so many times poorer. "Rahkah this is an...unexpected pleasure."_

_Rahkah, catching on quickly to the intended sarcasm, replied with just as much derision. "Likewise I'm sure..." He then said on a more emotional-or at least an impression that sounded realistic enough-note, "I heard about 'er passing. It must be a agonizing, losing someone that you were so close to-" _

_"Is there something you _needed_, General?"_

_"I...Well, I just wanted to say...that I am sorry...about all this...and mostly 'cause-"_

_"-you did not achieve a victory? I would not be surprised..." _

_Rahkah's mouth dropped open. "I was _going_ to say that it's mostly 'cause you and I are war-brothers. We're supposed to have each others' back." _

"_Oh, of course that is what you were going to say! I never would have thought otherwise, with how much you sought after things the way you did!" It hurt Qymaen's throat to speak at such a volume, but he did it anyway; he cared not anymore._

"_Listen, kid," said Rahkah irately, "you may have a better reputation than me, but do you hafta' be so nasty? I came to give you concern. Well, congratulations! You got it, and I thought it would at least cheer you up a _little_ bit...Obviously I was wrong."_

_He grimaced. "I would naturally admire those who gave concern. But words from the mouth of a hypocrite do no more than worsen the situation..."_

"_Hypocrite?" The other general repeated. "Thank you very much." He sauntered on towards the door, muttering something along the lines of: "All because he never had enough audacity to talk when he should have."_

"_What was _that_?"_

_Rahkah glared over his shoulder. "You heard me_._"_

_Qymaen secretly wished he hadn't..._

_..._

"_You did what?" was all Fiatahh Aavok could say when Qymaen told him about his lack of success._

"_It is my _right_! I will not let measly soldiers get in the way of my retaliation!"_

"_You did _what_?"_

_This dispute had been going on between them while the others watched with silent disapproval._

"_This is a disgrace to us!" Aavok continued, talking to the generals that were seated all around the dark meeting room. "I say we kill him where he stands just like he killed off his regiment!"_

"_Be silenced Aavok." Karavasi cautioned. "You have said quite enough as it is to complicate matters."_

_Qymaen turned to face Arad Karavasi. "Surely you understand what is happening to me!"_

_There was a sigh. "No Sheelal. I am afraid I do not."_

_"I cannot sleep. I cannot focus on my obligations. And most importantly, this is driving me down a road to destruction!" His voice was now frantic "Is there no one who has _any_ empathy for me?"_

_Csilvitor T'lit'co, who had been silent before, disregarded the remark. "Sheelal, I think it would be in your best interest if you took a brief rest from the business of war and let the more… attentive ones do the work for awhile."_

"_No! I will not allow that. I worked too hard to get to the rank I am today, and I did not just go through all this hellish misery for you underlings to tell me I cannot continue with my work! At one time they all said I was blessed by the gods, that it was my destiny to free all of our people!"_

"_Not anymore." Dau-Maz said from one side. "You forfeit that title the first time you allowed your emotions to ruin that mission to Tovarskl! Blessed? I would say 'cursed' now, truthfully...which is exactly why we are telling you this." He paused. "I am not sure that you are aware of this Sheelal, but _we_ are, so please do not take offense to the truth." He looked around at the other spectators. "We have reason to believe…that the tragic occurrence might have very well caused something to… go wrong inside your mind, causing, well… a condition that is effecting your reason." _

_All was quiet for a moment. Then came the explosion._

"_What is the matter with you all? There is _nothing_ wrong with _me_! Why can you not simply accept the fact that I need only some _real_ understanding for once?"_

"_We are most sorry, we tried. But if you can not handle controlling your actions… then we are afraid we will have to remove your services from our cause by force."_

"_That is utterly impossible! You would have to break the _Oath_!"_

"_We know that." replied Dau-Maz grimly._

"_I do not have to put up with this." He sneered. "I do not need any of _you_ to help me live my life!" Then he added under his breath. "I never needed help in the first place..."_

"_Very well then..." Dau-Maz said, with a slight nod, signaling for the guards to move in from their positions at the entrance. "That being said, take him out of this place and do not let him back in."_

_There were murmurs of all different kinds from around him. Some were of satisfaction; some, of disgust. Still some, though not many, were of commiseration. Qymaen looked to Rahkah for help. The other man was silent as the grave, stone-faced and stricken with some type of distress. Evidently he was still affronted from their exchange months and months ago._

"_Have you anything else to say?" The leader of the cause's voice came again._

_With his shoulders tightly held by the sentinels, Qymaen was unable to react in the way he wanted, but made it obvious what he would have done if he had been able to._

"_I will have my revenge...and by the time I am through, you all will cry to the gods for mercy..."_

_Dau-Maz frowned. "I will have to remember that. Remove him now."_

_Just as the doors closed on Qymaen, he hissed through clenched teeth. "I'm coming for _you_ Dau-Maz!"_

_..._

_A silence so unsettling crept over the night that one could hear the footsteps of another even in sleep. Everything had grown so complicated so quickly...It was enough to stupefy most of the more common civilians. For the commanders, their feelings on the matter of their former general's surname alteration were that of the utmost disbelief. Along with the abandonment of his title, it seemed most of the man's reasoning had gone as well. He was not well, that was for certain. Tales of his bloody conquests were spread all over the planet with both fear and admiration. Once every few months, he would be seen returning from battle with intent in his steps, forcing the weary soldiers behind him on with a brutality very much unlike his past nature. He would be tired; tired but cruel and callous towards those who had surmounted the battles fought. There would be not one ounce of appreciation summoned from his remorseless soul..._

_He was no longer what he had once been. The coldness of his own emotions had distorted him and embittered all the joy that he had once possessed. Rarely did he express his mourning, but when he allowed all the sorrow to escape, people usually were murdered._

_Such was so on the soundless, forbidding night. _

_He stood on a rise overlooking the most heavily colonized village. Thick raindrops drummed steadily on his leather-cloaked shoulders; thunder and lightning infrequently occurred. It appeared that his was the only silhouette when the sky would light up, but he was not alone. From behind him came ten of his finest mercenaries, lead by Ly-khn. All of them wore identical masks, as did he, making it nearly impossible to discern who was who. The markings were of their leader; their general, in an effort to confuse any attackers in the case that their life would be forfeit. One would think that they had premeditated some intricate idea in which to beget retaliation, but that was the wrong assumption. _

_The actual plan was quite simple._

_The five remaining generals were going to be assassinated that night._

_It would seem rather hopeless to the inexperienced looker-on, but he had played his cards right. There was no going back. The time for reassessment had ended. His enemies were destined the heinous fate from the moment the contested his will. _

_He gave his subordinates the signal, and they all drew their hoods simultaneously. After doing so himself, he began the stealthy descent to the military headquarters on the outskirts of the village. It was a circular compound with seven separate living quarters spaced around it, five of which housed a sleeping commander. The ten other men with him had no weapons, bar a single dagger sheathed at each of their sides. They knew as well as anything that their leader's intentions were purely out of personal disdain, but no longer would his vehemence be kept in the shadows. With Ly-khn by his side, he arrived at the guarded entrance to the compound, faced by a lone sentry who eyed him and all of the masked men following him suspiciously._

"_Who-who are you?" The guard stipulated cagily, worried to not see the face of the intruder. "What is your business here?" _

_He took a step forward, his wicked presence looming over the innocent one, and growled in a voice so unlike his own that his own men repressed the urge to cower, "The blameless shall die." _

_As he entered the enclosed area, Ly-khn did what needed to be done, and the innocuous guard dropped to the ground, lifeless. Not concerned in the least that someone would find out, he lead those who accompanied him into the spherical plot, standing in the middle so he could have an sufficient view of each lodging. He tilted his head and listened for any warnings that things could be amiss, and while he tried to perceive sound over the wind, rain and thunder, a strange, almost implausible thought came to him. Immediately, he raised an arm and beckoned his prominent elite protector to him once more. _

"_Find me the dwelling of General Rahkah," he whispered to Ly-khn, "but do not touch him..." _

"_Yessir." answered Ly-khn quickly, then looking back at the others. "Move out."_

_A minute or so passed as they searched each building, but soon one of them stood in the doorway of a house off to the side and motioned for him to come. He did so at once._

"_We found him, my lord." He was told. _

"_Excellent."_

"_Shall we continue with the plan now?"_

"_No. Wait until I tell you to, idiot." He said. "Only then can you proceed, but I personally wish to deal with Dau-Maz."_

"_Of course, sir. Right this way sir."_

_The elite showed him to a small room where he saw Rahkah. Three other dark figures were gathered around his sleeping form, daggers drawn and clenched in their fists. Slowly he shook his head, a gesture for them to sheathe their blades. The man was a slick one, indubitably, and a distant memory came to him when he was pushed too far in his violent actions: about to kill his rival. Despite this, Rahkah would not meet death. Why? He wasn't sure...But in a sporadic feeling of charity, he knew that the other general might just be useful in the future. Yes, Rahkah was a thorn in his side, and had proved on countless occasions that his philandering ways had been directed at people they shouldn't have been, but killing the fellow commander might obliterate any future chances to use the latter as an object to take his anger out on. He badly wanted to pull out his knife and kill Rahkah where he lied; wanted to so bad his hand ached to bring down the sharp edge into Rahkah's skin. He restrained himself, however. _

_He looked to his elite, and pointed to the door. He offered not one glance back._

_"Where is Voaga Dau-Maz?" He rasped-fingers curling and uncurling-at Ly-khn, who stood just outside. Ly-khn indicated the correct building, and the bloodthirsty leader wasted no time stalking in its direction. He thrust the man by the door out of the way and entered, dagger in hand instantaneously. The room was easy to find; all the houses were alike in virtually every way. Dau-Maz lay on his back, head rolled to the side in sleep. The interloper lurked up to the bedside and lowered himself to the ground, the hand not clutching the knife hovering over Dau-Maz. Slowly, he extended a finger and touched the insulter's forehead with the tip of his sharp nail. The general awakened abruptly, and to his horror the first thing he saw was the hooded face just inches away from him. He went to call out, but when he felt the cold, sharp sensation on his throat, he stopped. His attacker shook his head leisurely, savoring Dau-Maz's fear. From the hood, a pair of golden eyes met his, glinting fiendishly every time the lightning flashed through the small window._

_From the other individual's view point, he smiled. It was playing out exactly as he wanted. _

_"So...my dear brother...how does it feel?" He asked Dau-Maz, quite sickly. "Do you feel suddenly as if the world has turned their backs on you...?" His smile faded. "I should hope so."_

_Dau-Maz considered his words carefully, breathing heavily. "Be sensible, Sheelal-"_

_"DO NOT CALL ME BY THAT DETESTABLE NAME!" He roared back, all but exerting all his weight into the knife upon the hated neck. Blood tricked out from under where the edge of the weapon had penetrated the skin. Dau-Maz hissed quietly, but was not through with reason. _

_"There are other ways; other possibilities! It does not have to be this way, just give us all a chance!"_

_His whole body heaving, he stared once more into the eyes of the one who had at one point been a courageous leader. "You said I was cursed, Voaga..." Leaning in even closer, his gaze scraped over the other. "I have not even begun to show you cursed." _

_Pushing down on the blade just deep enough so that he knew it would not kill him right away, he ripped it sideways out of Dau-Maz's neck. Blood splattered over him; he didn't care at all. This was what he wanted._

_As Dau-Maz slowly bled out, gasping helplessly for breath, he watched with a mad, perverse satisfaction, then decided to leave the dying man to his fate...alone. _

_"And that, my friend, is what happens when you insult me...I hope you suffer."_

_That was all he offered before he walked out with the knife still in his hand. The ten men he had brought with him all stood at attention. He prowled up and down in front of them, steps purposeful and mindset the darkest and most wonderful it had ever been. His hand, stained with the blood of Dau-Maz were clasped tightly behind his back, holding his cloak in place. The rain ran over him like a flood. He said nothing as he traveled back and forth. His elite soldiers watched him, gazes unwavering. Ly-khn stood faithfully at the far end of the line. Finally, after a moment longer than was completely necessary, he spoke as he paced. _

_"Now it is your time. Go forth and kill the rest!" _

_He proceeded to climb atop a residence across the way, and when at last the elite had carried out the task they had been given, he dismissed them, lingering behind on the roof. He watched Rahkah exit his designated abode and run to Aavok's quarters, only to come directly back out. Rahkah sank to the ground, dazed it seemed, as was expected. Suddenly, as if some revelation had hit him, he bolted back to his feet and went to where Dau-Maz was, stayed in there a few long minutes, and stormed out the door into the rain in a rage unlike him. Rahkah staggered towards the building whose crown he stood on, and when he collapsed and happened to look up, his face disclosed his horror. The murderer laughed, a grating, intense expression of triumph, staring Rahkah down, before he leapt off the roof and ran vigilantly to the compound gates. _

_He vanished like a phantom into the trees after that._

_..._

_Voices hit him like an enemy in battle. The loud, dark hostelry bustled with customers-each seated at various tables or the bar itself, conversing with the tender and each other in groggy tones. Those happy enough to just sit there without drinking were considered the most refined ones in the place. Ah yes...The civilized people. Civilized, in that instance meaning the people who avoided strong beverages _all together_, and were able to carry a decent conversation with their neighbor. On tonight of all nights, there was an overabundance of these respectable folks, and the whole establishment was presently under-control and moderately tranquil. There were of course, those utterly stupid few who were breaking the peace with their intemperance, but they were silenced as soon as they caught a glimpse of his face._

_Grievous had arrived._

_He walked up the path formed by his viewers, the last person the Kaleesh people thought they would see in such a common place. Most were frightened._

_"Tender," his deep voice echoed through the quiet space, "get me a drink...I need to leave this place."_

_He sat himself down at a quickly empty seat at the counter._

_"Tough day?" A drunk garbled beside him._

_His head snapped angrily over to the man who dared address him. "If you do not get your sorry carcass out of my sight in three seconds, you will be dead on the floor before you know what took your head..."_

_Upon getting a worn mug shakily handed in his direction, he took it, swung around and walked to a table near the back corner. Sitting, he sighed, lost in his own miserable existence. He idly traced a line in the wooden surface, ignoring the eyes that were on him. Eventually, he could take no more._

_"Stop looking at me you bloody infidels!" He shouted, turning his back on the people. "Freaks." muttered Grievous afterwards._

_He noticed a person sitting back at the farthest possible table. "Not much of carouser either, huh?"_

_"No..." The female voice came as incredulous. "I suppose..."_

_Grievous got up-calling more attention to himself, which he heartily ignored-and joined her in her isolation, drink in hand. "Then why, might I so humbly inquire, are you in a place such as this?"_

_She exhaled slowly, her features obscured by shadows. "You are unquestionably right sir in asking that question...I prefer to remain on my own, yes, but life has taken a turn for the worse, I'm afraid." _

_There was a long silence, in which both of them completely avoided looking at the other out of sheer awkwardness. Grievous did not touch his drink; neither had she, apparently. As it was, she was the one who spoke again._

"_My name is Athela Erihdiy, in case you were wondering. Pleased to make your acquaintance; I've heard so much about you."_

_He allowed a small smile in attempt to look even slightly jovial. "I am...flattered. It is rare in these dark times to encounter someone that admires me, instead of showing fear...May I ask where you originate from?"_

"_Far away." Athela replied._

_Grievous studied her silhouette. "Then why are you here in this obviously uncivilized place?" _

"_I needed to get away, just like you...Many terrible things have been happening to me lately."_

"_Tell me, perhaps we can relate."_

"_I cannot disclose that information to you here. I know too much to be discussed in such a public, said unsophisticated place..."_

_Leaning against the table, he stared at the wall behind her. "Once more, I have to ask: why are you here? Other than for the evident reasons."_

"_Actually, I was hoping you could provide some enlightenment for me, since you appear to know so much. I am searching for someone; an old... friend of my family. Perhaps you would know them?" _

"_Possibly." Grievous drawled, eyes half-closed, and mouth in a tight line._

_She leaned forward then, so he could see her, and his head snapped back so abruptly that he was surprised he didn't hear something crack. He stood up, motioning for Athela to do the same. Rapidly, yet still quite stiffly, he turned to go, expecting her to follow. She did. As they were about to leave, an unpleasant voice stopped Grievous dead in his tracks; an unpleasantly irritating voice._

"_Hey!" The tender yelled from the bar._

_They both turned._

"_She did not pay for her drink!"_

_Grievous scowled at the man with such malevolence that those with any shred of sense left in their being cowered under the malicious atmosphere it cast. _

"_She's with me." He growled. "You do not need her money."_

_He left everyone gaping after him, and Athela very confused as she followed him out without further protest..._

Everything moved fast for Grievous as he saw it, and far too soon was he back on Uvena Prime. Athela stared at him; he looked intently back at her, eyes glazed over. What was going on! Who _was_ she? Why did he have the memories he did? What was even wrong with him! He had stopped walking, yes, but for how long? How long exactly had he stood there, motionless? Athela had developed an expression on her face that he had never seen her wear. Perhaps it was her alcohol induced state, or even a mental condition he never had known about, but she came across as...content.

"What...what happened to me?" He asked, very quiet. "What have you done?"

She did not reply.

"Why do you refuse to speak?" His voice had become unsettling; _disturbed_. "Do you not know what I am? Who I once was?" The cyborg took a step closer to her-there were no bystanders this time, he could kill her without any witnesses. But that was not his intention. "How can you not remember on your own will...?"

Athela opened her mouth to talk. Overcome, his fist made contact with her jaw before he even knew what he was doing. She made a kind of yelp, but stood her ground. Grievous realized what his anger had caused and voluntarily backed away. Just as suddenly, the comlink built into his arm beeped, and he was quick to answer it. "_What_?" He grated. "This had _better_ be good."

"_General, we have a problem_..." said the warble of one of his bodyguards, wherever they were.

"Can it wait?"

"_I do not think you understand, sir_. _The native race of this planet is_-" Whatever it was about to say was cut off, followed by only static.

Grievous went on the alert immediately, just as everything around them came to life.

It had taken Rahkah a whole lot longer than he had expected to locate young Yeiro. What he had failed to attain from his spontaneous helper was the specific name of the "eastern tribe" the boy was residing with. In reality, there were dozens of possible choices, and Rahkah, the unfortunate character that he was, had to spy on them all, sometimes having to wait days on end, hiding in different locations around the perimeter hoping he'd get lucky. He had only been spotted once in the few months he had traveled around. The poor girl had thought that he was some sort of predator just waiting to snag an unsuspecting someone like her, and had exited the scene to go report him faster than she had entered it. Rahkah had been forced to run as fast as he could and as far as was possible without straying into unknown territories.

And then he had stumbled upon Yeiro.

Just like that.

On the second day of his watch on a particularly average village, he had simply seen him standing outside conversing with a male of his age. Maybe it had been Rahkah's eyes, but Yeiro appeared to have grown, physically and mentally. His way of carrying himself had improved; Rahkah couldn't help thinking that _his_ absence had probably done that. He had observed the young man for a few days, taking in his daily habits and 'rituals' like a true stalker...which he most obviously _wasn't_. Much like before, he found a place to lay his head at night-if he even _did_ decide to sleep-far enough away from the village that he wouldn't be found. And much like before, he was very hesitant about entering the establishment when the appropriate time came. But he had to. He had to...He wanted to, _so badly_. It was an obsession.

Rahkah could scarcely breathe when he stepped foot into the silent village on the night he had planned. Only a few stray fires remained to light the way. His feet made no sound against the cold earth; his gaze focused unwaveringly on the place which the one he sought had entered only hours before. Only when he glanced around him to ensure that he was not being watched did he take his eyes off his destination. The only sound to be heard were the night creatures in the surrounding jungle...and his occasional breath.

Somewhere, he heard a voice.

He moved faster, intent on reaching the house before he was spotted.

The voice went on, volume rising.

Another joined it.

He ran, throwing caution to the wind.

One by one, he saw people appear at the doors of their homes, then tear towards him from all angles.

Everything blurred, and Rahkah knew he had failed for the last time...

Yeiro walked upon shaking legs. Everything and everyone around him blurred. He pushed past the guards at the door in a daze, no matter how much they may have protested. He wasn't sure. He didn't care much either. It was dark. Dark and cold, the kind of environment that foretold tragedy. The kind of place where one would come and see death; feel death, hear death and even taste death...Yeiro trailed his hand along the worn wall absentmindedly, unsure of why he had chosen the path that would incontestably lead to sorrow.

The room he entered housed only one occupant, who sat in a chair in the corner. His hands were bound-so were his feet. His head was bowed, hair hanging in a thick curtain over his features. His shoulders, ordinarily squared, were lifelessly flaccid, and his chest rose up and down along with his steady breathing. He was a man defeated. A man that had nothing left to live for. He rightly well didn't. He had been captured once, only to escape when he had been given a chance to prove his ways had changed. And now...there he was, broken before Yeiro, a prisoner of his own doing for the last time. Justifiably, his death sentence had been swift and without vacillation, intended to be held publicly in the middle of the largest settlement on the planet within the hour. And as Yeiro stood silently in the doorway, he felt only a smattering of pity for the condemned. A criminal and murderer was what he was. Everything else he had previously been: a friend, and ally, and at one point somewhat of a father figure, was erased in the young man's mind. Even so, his last wish was to speak with Yeiro, and out of the last bit of respect that Yeiro held for him, he honored the request.

A man with the reputation N'jaere Rahkah deserved _that_ much.

Yeiro cleared his throat emphatically. Rahkah's head shot up. Two pairs of eyes met, one pair grieved, and the other pair unemotional. The ill-fated pair were not the ones that were showed their owner's affliction. Yeiro didn't move, locked in a silent exchange with he who had caused him distress. It could have been his imagination, but nothing about Rahkah said "slaughterer" to him in that moment...

"Yeiro..." The name was spoken without feeling, like all that was left of Rahkah was deadness. "You came...?"

Yeiro nodded. "Yes. It was the least I could do for you...after you helped me out in the past."

Looking past him somewhere out into the hallway beyond the room, Rahkah mustered a half-smile. "I guess this is the last time we'll get a chance to talk before I get what's comin' to me. Take a seat if you want, kid." Yeiro studied him skeptically, then eyed the only other chair in the space. "Go on, I won't be _offended_ or nothing."

It was a relatively tough choice, but Yeiro ultimately pulled the chair out in front of the older man and sat cautiously down. "You wanted to talk to me about something?" He asked finally.

Rahkah appeared to be considering his words carefully, peering at Yeiro through the untidy mess he called his hair. He contemplated the bindings around his wrists, turning his hands over a few times. He then cocked his head and his eyes rolled back to the visitor before him. "Yeah...I got...I got some stuff to explain...that I think you should know before they kill me."

"If you intend to clarify why you murdered two innocent people all those months ago, do not waste your breath, because I-"

He cut Yeiro off, raising his arms, "No...It's, it's not about that, Yeiro. Just let me talk, okay?" Rahkah took a deep breath. "All right..._Gods_, how am I supposed to put this..." He mumbled to himself, troubled about _something_. "How much, exactly, did your mother tell you about yourself when you were growing up? How much about your history?"

"Not much...She said that my father was a great man, and that my real mother passed away, but nothing else. Why do you ask?"

"I ask 'cause I know that you've been getting blatantly lied to your whole life, and I helped that along, much to my regret." Yeiro watched the prior commander uncertainly as he went on. "Your..._father_ wasn't such a great man as your dear mother claimed...Your _fake_ father was. He was what every kid wanted as a sire. He was a god, an arrogant one, but a god nonetheless. See, you remember that time when I told you the story of that guy...named _Grievous_?"

Dozens upon dozens of Shistavanens were upon the general before he could take hold of his lightsabers. Their incredibly heavy bodies slammed into him, and he met them with only his bare hands for weapons. He did not understand why they were attacking him and his troops! The Confederacy had made peace and won them over! Then, why were they acting out in hostility? Grievous roared in anger and ripped his fingers through the facial flesh of one of the aggressors. It backed off to paw at its wounds, but jumped back at him within no time. And that was only _one_ of them. He couldn't do anything; he couldn't move. There were too many of them. He fought them all, though. He fought them all with every fiber of rage in his mechanical body, tearing and thrashing them despite the fact that they were heavier than he.

When a fraction of a second presented itself, he took advantage of it and grabbed a lightsaber at random, igniting it and impaling the next unfortunate Wolfman who dared go for him. It gave a high pitch whine and slammed into the ground beside Grievous, a gaping, burning hold through its chest. The remaining Shistavanens-and there _were_ still many; his hand-to-hand fighting hadn't done much good-all began to try and dislodge his weapons from his belt and inside his cloak. All the same, he slaughtered them like animals, slicing them down mercilessly. His talons closed around the muzzle of one and slammed it into the dirt, but not before it managed to claw one of his lightsabers away from him. With a snarl, Grievous went to get it, but another enemy knocked it away and threw him off balance with its crushing weight. Both the canine and cyborg landed hard, grappling for control. The Shistavanen kept a forepaw on the wrist below the hand that held the lightsaber at all costs, while Grievous resisted. Not panicking just yet, Grievous flicked his wrist just enough that the glowing blade merely came close enough to sear his current foe on the side of the head. The dog reared back, and Grievous's outstretched, razor-sharp feet finished the job on the creature's exposed abdomen. He rolled out of the way in time to miss the dead one, only to be overwhelmed again. This time, he could do nothing. The brown Shistavanen's jaws lowered to the remains of his throat faster than he could react...

...

...

...

The pain never came. He could vaguely feel the labored breath hitting him, but the thing wasn't moving. Straining only slightly, Grievous craned his neck up to see over the huge body, and what his eyes beheld shocked him.

There stood Athela, his fallen lightsaber clutched tightly in her hands.

She had killed the Shistavanen who had been about to take his life.

Too much happened to him!

Grievous stood, and bracing himself for another round of battering, he was quite surprised when nothing came. Turning in a full circle, he saw bodies; tons of bodies piled on the ground around him, most of which were dismembered and bleeding. Some-a few-twitched and whimpered like the dogs they were, struggling to lick their injuries under the oppressive pain. In the distance, he heard the sound of blaster fire, which meant either his troops were experiencing the same thing, or that the Republic had arrived on the scene. Grievous stared down at one in particular. It was smaller than the rest, and had strangely colored fur with equally odd eyes, one blue, and one icy green. It dug at the ground under it with its claws, crying animatedly. Drool and blood covered its jaws; it breathed in sporadic snorts. Maybe he should have put it out of its misery, maybe he should have done it as a small act of kindness...But he didn't find the mercy in him. He and the Shistavanen made eye contact, and the cyborg took that as an opportunity to speak.

"You are different than them...I can tell..." stated Grievous, idly swinging around his lightsaber. "Why have you done this? Your race made peace with the Confederacy only hours ago."

It whined, writhing in agony.

"Oh, you do not know basic?" He turned sadistic, cutting into the Shistavanen's leg with the tip of the plasma blade. The unfortunate victim let out a high-pitched, wraithlike yelp, echoing into the night. "For me...you _do_."

"It...it w-was..._Republic_." It's basic was extremely broken, but understandable nonetheless. "Most...of us follow Separatists...Some n-not...We..._not_...We betray-our kind...So be it..."

Grievous left it lay there, looking to Athela, who stood in the exact same place she had been when she had killed the canine alien, shaking like a leaf. She had not deactivated the lightsaber, which Grievous was quick to retrieve from her quivering hands, placing it back in its rightful place inside his only faintly ripped up cloak. One thing was for certain: she had slain more than one of the enemies, for he had not dealt with all of them before finding himself restrained on the ground. On the bright side, she had proved she could kill. But on the other hand, what she had gone through that day was what no one should have had to experience. She needed to be with her people, the ones who accepted her for who she was, sarcasm and all. But that was obviously impossible, seeing as all the promises he had made to Darth Sidious were unbreakable. He could not risk his position to do anything about it just yet.

Or could he...?

No one would have to know.

_No idiot_! He snapped mentally, studying his fingers intently. _They would know_..._They always know_...

Quite unconfident-something that normally didn't happen to him-he sighed and cautiously placed his hand on Athela's shoulder, taking in her defeated face. She shrank back at his touch, as taken aback by the gesture as he himself was. Grievous remember so much it hurt, and seeing her standing there before his devastated self made everything seem all the more hopeless. It was never a problem he had expected to encounter ever again, the feeling of susceptibility his mortal form had endured on one too many occasions. He just couldn't do it anymore...

Finally, as the sound of a fight grew closer, he said, "Soon we will leave this place..." He paused for only an instant, and added decisively, "And then, you are going home..."

**Weeelll...? Did I do a good job with the flashbacks and the random fight and the Rahkah and Yeiro part? And what did you think of the ending to this chapter? Was it good, bad, too OOC for Grievous? Sorry for the large amount of** **questions! I'm just so happy to have this one done for you guys! Speaking of which, if its not too much to ask: review, okay? If more people besides my two normal reviewers don't comment, I'm afraid my update will take EXTRA long. I mean, seriously, I worked hard, and I want some feedback, so...PLEASE SAY SOMETHING BEFORE THIS STORY IS OVER!**


	40. The Resistance

**(said in creeperish voice) Hello there...I am so glad to see such...**_**wonderful**_** people back in my online windowless dark van... Ha ha ha haaa... (returns to previous state of sanity)**

**Okay anyway, it took me a long time to write this chapter because since it is basically the last chapter (maybe?) and many climactic things happen due to that reason. I needed to sort out Rahkah's problems and give him even a semi-epic/graphic death sentence, and I couldn't decide where to go with Grievous and Athela on Uvena Prime. Gah! It hurts to read what I've written, and it'll probably hurt you to...Curse emotional things! And just so you know, I'm writing this author's note on 11/28/10, just to give you an idea of how long the planning process takes. So, when you do finally read this, review to give any last words before the epilogue...or LAST chapter depending on how this one goes. Special thanks to 'Chuck', we put aside out differences momentarily to discuss ideas; and all of my wonderful reviewers: Charlie B. Barkin (I didn't kill off any more Shistavanens for your sake haha), HallovveenGirl, crilio101, barnowls625, pacificuser, blizz and The Reader. Thank you so so much for your support! **

**This chapter and the last were written to the song 'Heart of Courage' in the Two Steps From Hell musical library AND 'The Poet and the Pendulum' by Nightwish. The first song is for when Rahkah is executed, and the second for basically the whole chapter. Okay? Okay...**

**PS: I added my favorite SWTCW character (bedsides Grievous) in this for a bit because I just love him so much!**

**Chapter 40~The Resistance**

Yeiro took in what Rahkah had just asked him carefully before replying, "Yes...yes I do remember." He remembered how terrible it had felt to hear about the murderer and how desperate he had become by the end. "How could I forget?"

The older male nodded subtly at this.

"But," Yeiro continued, "what is this you say about having a...fake, father?"

Rahkah, still making no attempt to move the hair from his face, interlaced his fingers, though his hands still remained bound. "Did your mother ever tell you what your father's names was?"

"No...I do not believe she did."

"As she shouldn't have. It would have brought you much trouble by the end, kid."

Yeiro understood what the corrupted commander was trying to tell him before the words even left his mouth. He did not want to, but it was something that he had never known, and the sudden revelation came upon him hard; much harder then he would have guessed. "Was...was this man, Grievous, was he my father?" asked the boy, wide-eyed and in shock, leaning towards Rahkah with his voice lowered as if he would be punished for saying it.

Silent for longer then he ought to have been, Rahkah closed his eyes and shook his head painfully. "No kid. But that was what you were told."

Yeiro had a strange feeling in his stomach at those words.

There came a sound at the door, and both the people in the room look to see who it was. Okohn nè Ihawa stood there, pokerfaced, arms crossed. "It appears your time is up, N'jaere Rahkah."

Rahkah cursed under his breath, obviously having some history with the bringer of bad news in Yeiro's eyes. Okohn looked at Yeiro, and he knew that his time to speak to the condemned was over. The guards came in and forced Rahkah to his feet without even a moment of warning. As they lead him out of the small space, Yeiro said, "Stop."

For a split second, all four of them paused and gazed back at the boy, still sitting in the chair.

Yeiro bit back his fear, mustering all the courage he could and stated urgently, "Rahkah," and he met Yeiro's cheerless eyes immediately, "who was my father?"

His captors awaited Rahkah's answer impatiently. Emotion was shown in his eyes at this, and with a small smile of triumph at being able to free the truth at last to the younger soul, Rahkah said one word, and one word only.

"Son..."

And then they took him.

...

Grievous ran hard, harder than he ever had before. No matter what his remaining mortal organs told him, namely his heart, he defied them, strength unbeatable. He was driven by the anger ever building up in him. He needed to get back to the shuttle that would take him back up to his command ship and he needed to do it fast. He had previously achieved a successful and complex hindrance for the Republic armies on the planet by planting a line of explosives along the route that they would travel. Yes, he _could_ have simply taken them all out himself, but considering the time frame he had, blowing them all to bits seemed the easier path. And it had indeed been entertaining to see - all of those corporeal beings bursting into nothing but a pile of ashes and separated, burning body parts. Grievous had observed from a safe distance, crouched expertly behind a particularly large and dense piece of foliage, and then darted away once he detonated the hidden bombs. It did not seem like him...even to him! But it was all he could do.

His pounding mechanical legs slowed him down once he saw the transport a short distance away. He also knew that the enemy troops wouldn't be far behind now, and they would be following him up to the command ship in all probability.

"Take off now!" He rasped vigorously at the droid pilot by the use of a commlink.

He hastened up the ramp into the small cabin of the shuttle just as the craft lifted off the ground. Standing at the very edge watching the ground objects slowly get smaller, he presently turned around to see Athela sitting there, her hand on her forehead seemingly out of pain, staring blankly up at him. She had managed to bandage her shoulder, but it was clearly still bleeding.

"What are you doing here?" shouted the cyborg, throwing his fists into the air. The Kaleesh female did not move a cinch, suffering from a hangover no doubt..."You should already be on the ship!"

Sensing Grievous's genuine anger at her, Athela shrugged. "I was waiting for you. Your side's little minions still think I'm something to kill..."

Despite his overly aggressive thoughts, he nodded accordingly. "This is true." He lowered himself down into his normal sitting spot. "When we arrive back to my ship, you are to go directly to your quarters and stay there. Lock the door; do not let anyone in. The Republic is coming after us, I can feel it, and you are in no stable condition to participate in the hostilities. Do you understand?"

"Sure..."

"Very convincing." Grievous replied, rolling his reptilian eyes with an added dose of sarcasm.

...

Yeiro shoved through the thick crowd callously, paying no heed to the comments of protest he received. He got to the last two people in his way and simply jostled them aside. From where he was, he stood directly across from where Rahkah was being positioned. The crowds were furious and loud, cursing and waving their fists in the air at the sight of the murderer. Yeiro looked around and saw that every few meters there was an outrageously large overseer standing along the edge of the throng, violently threatening anyone who acted out of turn. Public executions weren't normally this intense, but Yeiro knew just as good as anyone that Rahkah was the most hated public figure ever to live in the times of the Huk War, and such aggression was to be expected.

The boy turned back to the man who had only just confessed to being his father, and watched as the defeated man simply let one of the guards - who held a large club with small, sharp spikes on it in one hand but used only the empty one for the violent act - take a swing at his face. The blow hit him hard enough to make him stagger, and the crowd roared with cheers and amusement. Why wasn't he fighting back? Surely he couldn't be _that_ crushed to not have the ounce of power he needed to return the act. Again the guards fist collided with his face; from where he was, Yeiro saw the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. Rahkah's bound hands stayed down, not even raising to block the third hit by the second guard. They took turns after that, hitting him quickly and severely, until he cracked and elbowed one of them powerfully in the ribcage while struggling to get out of his bindings. The rope they had used cut into his wrists from the effort.

Yeiro silently rooted for him.

Everyone else shouted for him to die.

Near Yeiro emerged Okohn, who was tailed by a group of ancient priest-like figures. The two guards wrestled the condemned to the ground and held him there just as Okohn began to speak to the masses.

"You see here today a man who has reached the end of his path," the sneery voice quieted them all, then paused for a moment before going on, "a man...who was once a living god to us. A man who was one of the seven." Another dramatic pause. "Now look at him. He is as the dirt under our very feet. He is a murderer and a soulless menace."

Okohn was handed a rolled up parchment, which he quickly unfurled to read. "What follows is an account of all the crimes committed by one N'jaere viir Rahkah: Murder...Theft of holy entities...Desecration of private property...Rape of innocent women..."

At this a female voice in the crowd screamed with an inhuman rage, "One of those women was my daughter!"

The accumulation of citizens grew loud with shouts of agreement. Words of hatred flew through the air like physical objects.

The overseers worked brutally to silence them.

Okohn made sure that all was well went on slowly. "...Supposed resurrection...Disturbing of the public peace...Deception...Utilizations of a minor for escape...Unmentionable involvement with one of our previously living deities...and other inviolable crimes too _numerous_ to mention..." A dry scowl crossed his face at this, and if Yeiro hadn't have known better, he could have sworn Rahkah had smirked.

What had the priest said? 'Unmentionable involvement with deities'? What was_ that_ supposed to mean? Yeiro wished instantaneously that he had gotten more time to question Rahkah on his past affiliations with his said "fake father" Grievous. And who in the gods names could he have been involved with? Like so many months ago, the proverbial dams of Yeiro's mind were about to break, but who was there to ask of? It would be pure lunacy to simply walk out into the circle of raving mad Kaleesh people and ask the man who was about to be executed what or whom Okohn was talking about.

"And now...N'jaere Rahkah...I bid you a fond farewell..." Okohn withdrew himself into the crowd.

The guards let off him, and Rahkah stood quicker than they themselves did. One guard said gruffly, "On your knees, General" sneering out the last word and sounding remarkably like Okohn himself!

Rahkah shot him a venomous look. "I'd prefer to stand if you don't mind."

"Oh but we cannot very well slice your head off if you are standing now can we?" The other one mocked.

The one about to be executed did not obey.

"Right then." The guard with the club rumbled, striding around behind Rahkah and bringing back the weapon. He slammed it forward into the man's back with such force, that Yeiro heard something crack. Rahkah fell forward onto the dirt, blood dribbling out of the wounds the spikes on the club had created. Yeiro cringed while everyone else around him screamed for more.

The boy watched in sheer terror as Rahkah got back up, only to be beaten down again. This time, the guard crushed him into the ground with the weight of the large object, battering his back with all the strength he possessed until the skin had been ripped to shreds. Still, with bodily fluids running down his back like a river, Rahkah spread out his arms, and braced them on either side of his quivering body, pushing himself up. He stood tall, looking out at all of the hatred surrounding him. The next time he was bludgeoned, he did not fall - his knees shook with effort, but he did not fall nonetheless. Roaring along with the crowd, the guard pounded the club lower into the backs of his legs, just behind his knees, and forced him down once more. The second guard aided the first, enraged just as his partner at the cursed man's defiance, holding Rahkah down with his foot by the head.

Rahkah, determined to meet his fate standing instead of the humiliation he was being put through on the ground, wrapped both huge hands around the hindrances ankle and flipped him away, even as the thrashing against his back went on.

Yeiro held back the sickness that was threatening to erupt at the sight of this torture. They were killing him bit by bit, weakening him by way of an endless cycle.

Rahkah would stand.

He would be on the ground again within the blink of an eye.

Then he would stand again.

His arms began to quiver near the end, and his whole body started to spasm. He struggled more and more to raise himself back up. The club on his back never let up. Not for one instant. Blood was everywhere. On Rahkah. On the club. On the ground. On both of the guards. The prior commander shivered with sobs the last time he fell. Tears flooded down his dirtied face, and he pressed both bloodied fists into the red ground again to ascend, suffering in a way that Yeiro had never seen another being suffer.

He did not even get to his knees before the club came down for the final time.

A loud shattering down resonated around the assemblage, and Rahkah went limp.

The applause was deafening.

There was brought forth a blade to sever the dead man's head.

That was when Yeiro turned and ran.

He could not stop himself from running into those gathered...

...for his own tears of horror blurred his sight.

...

"Hurry up!" Grievous snarled at the shaken Kaleesh woman as the shuttle entered the command ship's hanger bay. The Republic's troops had already managed to board, and were apparently spreading themselves all over the mammoth flagship. Evidently, they had placed a large number of themselves in the docking bay, and quite irksomely shot at the small transport before the pilot had even landed. _Reckless trigger-happy clones..._Athela thought, before the general's raspy voice pervaded her observations again. "Get to your quarters! I will give you some time, but I cannot promise that it will be enough!"

Athela struggled to speak over the sounds of blaster fire, exploding battle droids and dying clones alike while the shuttle doors slowly made their way open, as if anticipating the damage that would be done to their exterior. "But I-"

Grievous spun around from his position facing the door and held out his custom blaster to her unexpectedly, stopping her words of protest. Then, with no sign that it was even unnatural for him, the cyborg's arms split apart, revealing a lightsaber in each separate hand - three fingers each. He glared at her an instant longer, eyes conveying an absolutely bloodthirsty sentiment as the doors at last opened entirely, and growled with unadulterated vehemence, "That is an order..."

That was all he needed to say, and with that, he leapt out and became the devil his words always made him appear. Athela, not wanting to be seen, ducked down, allowing herself a moment to watch him severing clone bodies left and right, his wrists rotating in perfect timing with each other to block every blast fired at him. The rare shots that hit him ricocheted off the durasteel plates covering his body. Athela watched him a mere second more before hastily yet inconspicuously creeping out off the shuttle with the weapon she had been given securely in her grasp.

She made her way around it, keeping her eyes on the fighting - and dying - enemy fighters all around her. Athela dropped down behind a metal cargo box beside the wall nearest to one of the side hallways. Desperately she prayed that she hadn't been spotted, by even the mindless droids as it were. Her breathing was rapid, and her head hurt terribly. Athela slumped down slightly at the sight of the bloody cloth wrapped around her shoulder area, and felt suddenly the full extent of the lost of bodily fluid she had experienced. Then she realized, with a guilty anger, that this was no time for petty, selfish concerns; she had to get to her quarters, as the cyborg general had ordered.

Pushing herself up onto her hands and knees, she looked around the side of the box. There was an opening...

...and Athela took it.

She ran fast, fast enough that she thought that the four clones closest to her had not seen her.

But she was wrong.

Her sensitive ears heard the yells of the opposing soldiers behind her, followed by their footsteps down the hall she had entered.

She tried her hardest to ignore the intense pain in her one leg - the leg that Grievous had kicked her ever so hard in the night before when trying to get some sort of information out of her; she wasn't sure if she remembered exactly what that had been - but it slowed her down. The four keeping chase caught up to her like a bad memory.

"You! Stop!" Or we'll be forced to shoot!"

Athela didn't look back, nor did she acquiesce their demands.

"Stop!" One yelled again.

She cursed at them loudly in her own language, pausing to take up Grievous's blaster. Turning around for what seemed like a split second to her, she pulled the trigger. The first shot hit one of the clone's in the chest - he was a low ranking one with no color on his armor, and fell like an insect. The other three - two regular white-armored clones and a higher ranking officer with blue and white on the Kaminoan amalgamation - only spared their dead brother a glance and continued coming at her, this time opening fire.

Athela shot back at them as fast as her finger would go on the trigger. She took out another plain one, adding to the body trail in the hallway. When Athela had had quite enough of the fatal yet oddly thrilling game they were inadvertently playing, she went to take off again, no matter how great the pain was. She could never know that it would be her downfall.

While she was twisting herself to make her departure, the last remaining regular clone aimed, and shot her squarely in the leg.

Time seemed to move in slow motion. Athela whipped around against the searing feeling of burnt flesh to see both of the living enemies standing there. The commanding clone had slammed down the blaster rifle of his subordinate and was looking on at the obvious foreigner in shock. They obviously had not meant to harm her, not intending to make good on their previous threats. But whatever the case was...she was now in a very bad position. Athela dropped her gaze to her leg. There was an ugly, deep mark the size of her fist where the skin of her calf had been burned away by the hot plasma. Blood seeped from the opening, running down the rest of her leg onto the floor, where it pooled around her foot. She raised her head back up to gape silently at the two soldiers. So much for the "peace keepers" Grievous had complained about every chance he received for light conversation.

"Now...don't be alarmed..." The officer tried to say, raising his hands a little. "You won't die from that if you-"

She cut him off with another barrage of shots from the blaster, face filled with rage. The torn ligaments and muscle strained against her defensive movements. Her aim was nonexistent; she fired the weapon blindly. The two clones glanced at one another and made an attempt to apprehend the blaster from her. Try as she might, she couldn't seem to hit them as they rushed at her. The plain one, when he had gotten in close enough range to reach out and take the gun by force, she tripped up. He hadn't been expecting it, and as very unlikely as it seemed to even Athela, he fell to the floor. A knew recruit perhaps?

She didn't care at the moment, and callously pressed the barrel of the blaster on his back.

"No don't do that!" The officer clone yelled frantically.

His order when unheard, and she shot him.

Athela had to logical clue how it happened but suddenly she was on her back ten feet away from where she had been only milliseconds before. Her face felt...funny, and one eye seemed to have stopped working - only blackness was shown from it. Her good eye saw that the trooper she had just done away with was lying face down up the hall, incinerated completely. Or at least...most of his torso was. His limbs and other parts were all over, burning up it seemed. The scent of destroyed flesh was so strong she suppressed a gag. Smoke hung in the air. The last living clone was getting up weakly a short distance away from her, outwardly untainted. When he looked around and saw her, he was at her side quicker than she could blink.

"Oh my god..." He muttered. "Oh god, oh god, oh god..."

"Wha-what?"

Why was her voice not working? Her throat began to burn and scratch; like someone had poured molten sand into her mouth with the purpose of ruining her vocal cords.

"Your..." the clone officer stammered, "Your face..."

Athela raised a tremulous hand to her strange-feeling visage, and touched two fingers to her temple.

She felt bone.

Gasping hoarsely, she ripped away her arm. "What h-happened t-t-to me?"

The soldier shifted uncomfortably. "Your face is...mutilated...and it looks as if your torso has severely broken bones...You shot Chem in the pack he uses to carry grenades, and - and you got caught in the explosion." He fumbled at his belt and withdrew a canteen. "Here," he tentatively lifted her head up, "drink."

"N-no..." Athela replied with a growl, powerless to stop him though. She winced as a shockwave of agony traveled through her features. "If I wasn't - if I wasn't in s-so much pain right now...I would not hesitate to k-k-kill you...just like y-your men..."

He became aware of her identity then, eyes boring into her from behind the thick helmet. "You work for him, General Grievous?" He turned what was supposed to be a statement into a question at the end.

"Yes..." drawled the Kaleesh woman, grimacing at the way the word made her face move.

He contemplated her carefully, undoubtedly trying to figure out what to do about the situation. Finally he said with a sigh, "First things first: take a drink."

As if she had any other choice but to comply. _Republic people_...She rolled her eyes mentally.

All of a sudden, a far too familiar voice echoed up the death-filled hall.

"All of you spread out! Find the surviving clones and kill them!"

It was Grievous.

The terrible coughing after he spoke gave him away.

Athela's mind screamed at her to do something to let him know where she was, but it would be the end of the kindly enemy, no matter how much concern he showed.

_I will be condemned for this_...

"What - what is y-your name, soldier?" Athela asked in a hurry.

"CC-7567-"

"Your _name_."

"Rex." He affirmed cautiously.

"I do not c-care if I d-die now...Rex..." She scraped out.

The clone called Rex turned his head to glance down the hall while he got to his feet, understanding full well what she wanted him to do. "This goes against all I've been trained to do, but I've learned to respect the dying wishes of others." He went to leave. "I have to rendezvous with my Commander. Goodbye..."

And like that, he sprinted away in the opposite direction as the voice of the general had been heard, crossing over a threshold of open blast doors.

Athela hoped that Grievous would locate her in time.

...

General Grievous had leapt out of that ship with great confidence that everything was going to work out as expected. He fought brutally, as normal, and turned the whole hanger bay into a complete and utter bloodbath. But, as was bound to happen, he made a mistake and it cost him fatally.

Somehow, one of the clones had managed to get in close enough range to seriously harm him by partially crushing the metal casing over his life-giving throat. Immediately Grievous felt the effects. His breathing felt very constricted, and he feared that he would go into a state of immobility if he didn't get help soon. Still, he wondered how the bugger was able to do it. The cyborg hadn't been _that_ distracted to not notice the trooper coming at him with obviously hostile intentions. It was a miracle that he was able to kill off the rest of them, all because - and he hated to admit it no matter how hard he tried not to - about a dozen of the new commando droids entered the area just as Grievous was considering taking the cowards way out and escaping so he would live to see another day. The coughing that came upon him was almost too great to bear; he felt like he was choking slowly. The novel droids assisted him in his efforts, and when the enemies around him were all dead, he made a hasty exit with the remaining six commandos following close behind.

He traveled up the hall he presumed Athela had taken, coughing hard the whole way, and encountered a clone body lying on the floor, dead. It had to be her work. Two hallways intersected, and Grievous took his chance.

"All of you spread out!" He said, holding back on his hacking. "Find the surviving clones and kill them!"

He then proceeded to double over and cough some more. A few droplets of blood splattered onto the gray floor. Grievous was taken aback with alarm. He ran a finger over the place where he inhaled and exhaled, and it came away with blood on it. Whatever the clone had done to him had caused him internal bleeding, and now it was...it wasn't good at all. He picked up his pace, hurrying as fast as he could without running out of breath. By design, he was built to be impervious to mortal needs such as rest or nourishment, but at the sight of his own blood, he started thinking about those needs good and hard. Naturally, he could go as fast as his robotic body would move and not be out of breath. The limited passage for air, conversely, did not allow him that luxury any longer, and so he felt that in a way he was handicapped.

It was not in his plans to suddenly come upon the body of his assassin ahead of him. There was smoke drifting about, and breathing it in irritated his throat even more. Something else must have malfunctioned...usually breathing in dangerous vapors did not effect him in the least. He coughed with every lagging step he took towards her.

She watched him come towards her, he covered the lower half of his mask with his arm to lessen the disgust she might feel about his problems.

But then he saw she had problems of her own.

Half of her face was virtually burnt off, her torso looked..._broken_, and her leg had a large hole in it from a blaster shot.

And he thought he had it bad...

As gruesome as it seemed, she was still alive, and quite alert it appeared. She did not move at all though, she just watched him through the one remaining eye that she had. Grievous, for once in his life, felt pity for the woman. Much like the night before when he had hurt her, she looked so helpless - revolting, but helpless. And yet still, as bad as she looked, he saw himself reflected in the maimed face staring back at him. He saw himself that historic night when the shuttle wreck on Kalee almost claimed his life. He saw himself fighting for everything he remembered in the bacta tank on Geonosis, taking the comments of disgust without reaction, soulless to the very end. Or was he, perhaps, not as heartless as everyone and himself lead him to believe? Did he, the Supreme Commander of the Droid Armies, coldhearted killer and murderer have..._compassion_, for Athela Erihdiy, who had lied to him and gone against her word more times then he cared to count?

He would be tested on that soon, he supposed.

Coughing violently yet again, he went to speak, but she did first.

"You - you should g-get help for th-that..." Athela told him hoarsely.

Grievous endeavored to speak without the dreadful hacking. When he did so, the two words came as a distressed order...and order her knew she could not follow, but it was all he had.

"Get up." He said, calm, before another round of coughing took over.

Athela's face fell at the sight of this. She slowly shook her head - or whatever remained of it.

"I cannot carry you in this condition!" His voice sounded gravelly, like two jagged stones rubbing together. "Now...get up."

"I cant!" She shouted weakly, and Grievous clenched his fingers into fists. "I can't! My leg it shot up! And I don't want to slow you down any more! Just go and get help for yourself!" By the end it was clear that it was causing her great anguish to speak at such a level for so long.

Grievous heard none of it.

"Get up." He repeated, and had a sense of déjà-vu about his interrogating her about her name, which he still didn't know. The blood on the bottom of his death mask dripped off now, it was becoming worse with every cough he endured. If he did not get it tended to soon, he would surely succumb to it. When Athela did nothing by gaze mournfully at him, it angered him. It wasn't her, it was his own mind telling him that he was powerless to do anything about it. He hated it. He hated the feeling that he got when he knew it was no use; that however badly he wanted something, he would never have it. He coughed so hard that it sounded like he was actually gagging on his own blood, which he probably was by that point. He never would have even guessed that he could choke on _anything_ until "that point"! It brought him to the floor. _Humiliating_...

"GET UP!" He shouted pounding his fists down onto the metal tiles in pain and frustration. "Do you not understand? Do you not know that you will die if you do not get up off of this floor?"

Athela's one eye closed in thought, and she breathed out a sigh of despondency. "I'm - I'm sorry, Grievous...I j-just can't do it..." Her head rolled to watch him retching over like a sick animal, and she said very softly, "B-but you can...Y-you can..."

He would have replied, but fate just didn't want him to.

"There!" Yelled an angry voice, followed by dozens of guns shooting as once.

Grievous cursed incomprehensibly amongst his coughing. The blaster fire hit him ceaselessly, and he did nothing to stop it. He strove to get up off of the presumably cold, mortifying floor, twisting his cybernetic body unnaturally to do so; the shots didn't stop, they only got worse at the sight of the general rising to his full height.

He looked at Athela once more, and knew he would have to learn what she had told him he never had. He would have to learn to let go. This psychologically crushed him. The last words he said to her were to be heartening, but for the horrendous sensation that had come over him, strangling what was left of his voice. The tone was shaky; filled with things he himself could never comprehend again. He was too hollow.

"Do not resist death, resist the darkness that follows..." He choked back another coughing fit and reached for two of his lightsabers. "Do this...and assure that your life will not become the eternal punishment mine has..."

He activated the blades and feebly deflected the opposing shots, taking large steps backward with all the strength he could muster, over the line of the blast doors, away from Athela's dying person. His blood-covered talons stretched to the keypad, about to free himself of the enemies tortuous fire, when her voice, more terrible and sorrow-filled than his rang out over the piercing cries of the adversaries' guns.

"She was my sister!" The voice screamed, desolately, emptied of all will to live. He understood who she spoke of.

His fingers had already entered the code when the confession reached his audio receptors, and before he could get one last look at her, the blast doors slammed shut.

All was quiet.

The cyborg's comatose body fell soon after.

...

**(breathes sigh of relief) Phew...That took me FOREVER to write. I didn't proof read it for spelling and grammar cause I wanted to get it up as fast as I could! Do not be in doubt though - the short Epilogue has yet to come! What'd ya think of that? Did you like it? Did you find it objectionable? Did you see Athela's last words /who-she's-been-lying-about-being-related-too-all-this-time coming? Do you think that you know how it will end in the last semi-chapter? I would **_**loooove**_** it ever so much if you all would review and tell me what you thought about all that happened in this chapter, okay? I HEART YOU ALL! **


	41. Epilogue : Life and Death

**Oh my dear friends...Now we must part...It's been quite a ride, I'll tell ya, these last four years of my life writing this. It's been written and rewritten more times than I care to count, but I knew that one day I would complete it. Today is that day :') Please enjoy this last chapter my friends, click the little button at the bottom and review! **

**~Nyhratak**

**NOTE: In order to fully grasp the effect of this epilogue, you must listen to a certain song while reading it. If know it or if you don't, look up 'Life and Death' on youtube from the TV show Lost, and just let it play while you read this. It inspired the title as well by the way if that's not already obvious...**

**Epilogue~Life and Death**

_There is but one light in the room when the devil's eyes open. His pupils contract against the blinding whiteness that appears above him; his fingers flex and scratch against the table he has been laying on for all of twelve days. He draws a purposeful breath, taking a mental inventory of himself, and rises to a sitting position. All around him are an assortment of medical contraptions - some bloodied, some not. He takes all of this in slowly as he places one leg on the ground over the side of the table, then the other. He stands like he has never done so before, feeling a renewed strength flood into his otherwise cold, unfeeling cybernetic body. He takes a step forward, and repeats the process, learning quickly. Everything is in a blur; he has to go back to the hallway where she..._

_He stops with realization._

_Where she died._

_It hits him hard, he stumbles a bit, but does not fall._

_His legs seemed to have forgotten how to work, though._

...

The sun has only just begun to rise on Kalee. The natives emerge from their domiciles to greet the morning with a mixture of stretches and contented sighs. From a small structure comes a young man. His face is worn from months of suffering; his frame is scarred, but his muscles have finally surfaced. He runs a hand through his deep brown hair, which hangs down to the middle of his back and has small beads on sections of it that click together when he moves. His eyes search the horizon hungrily, wishing, praying to the gods above that he will see something...

The older male in the doorway next to him offers discouraging words, for he knows how the young man has waited every morning since that tragic day. He knows how his younger neighbor yearns for the security of a family once more. He knows the legend, alive to that day, for he has lived through it. Still the young man looks on, and still the elder crushes his hopes.

The older man studies the distant skies too for a time, knowing that there will be nothing to see.

But he is wrong...

There appears a tiny dot, almost invisible to his old eyes and he watches as it grows closer and closer. It is clear that it is a foreign transport soon enough, but he has his misgivings. It is Separatist, clearly. The three wings - two on the side and one on the top - give it away quickly. Neimoidian no doubt. He spares a glance at his neighbor, whose gaze is locked unwavering on it. Can it be, that the young man's prayers have been answered? Can it be that there is someone watching out for him up in the heavens?

The elder raises his head, uttering the appropriate words to the deities, and stares skyward, lost in thought. When at last he looks down, the ship is landing, the feet unfolding from underneath the hull. He scans the area and sees all of the people who have gathered to witness the spectacle. The old male then turns back to the ship to see the ramp extending. The interior is dark, but it is clear that there is a figure standing within. The man's neighbor is motionless, transfixed upon the offworldly entity. And then, the figure within begins to move slowly towards the opening.

For a few seconds, the man holds his breath, as does the younger male.

They step into the light.

The elder and everyone around the area shrink away in unison, shocked. Everyone except the young man.

A woman stands there, staring back at the boy with a tear-filled gaze. Her face is only partially visible. An odd mask is seemingly built into the one side - only one eye is shown. She holds out a quivering hand, and the populace resists the urges they have to flee.

Suddenly the boy is in her arms, weeping with her, and in that moment, the elder hears her say the words: "I'm home now Yeiro...I'm home..."

...

The command bridge on the Confederacy's flagship is loud, bustling and crowded. Working droids run this way and that, hastening to their places. A human male looks on out the large windows, standing aloof on a platform above the mechanical slaves. His face is empty, but his mind celebrates the victory he and his master have achieved. They have successfully broken their Separatist commander; Darth Sidious's predictions were right, and now everything is as it should be. The man has summoned the cyborg general, and waits expectantly. He turns to the door when it opens. An ominous quiet falls over the bridge - the sound of duranium claws upon a different metal clicks into the environment, temporarily silenced by the promise of verbal, animalistic brutality.

"Count," General Grievous says keeping his probing gaze on his feet, "I am prepared to resume my duties."

Dooku's brow furrows, he glares at the military leader who is unwilling to meet his stare. "You have certainly taken long enough." The human snaps, expecting the foreseen cringe.

It never comes.

Dooku tries again. "With all of the work you have placed in mine and Ventress's hands - I should think that you would be a bit more grateful..."

Grievous weighs the words, and formulates a simple answer.

"Thank you." He replies without any emotion, though the words are foreign to him. He then walks over to his customary place by the window, and becomes oddly quiet.

Count Dooku knows that he and his master have won. Their general has crumpled.

It is a good day for the Confederacy.

...

Grievous is painfully aware that the count is watching him with sadistic joy. He clasps his hands behind his back, bowing his head contemplatingly. He feels the cold amber orbs boring into his back; experiences the meaningful tug of the smirk on the Sith's mouth.

And he begins to think about what it would be like to rip into that scornful face and tear it apart. How it would be to put out those judgmental eyes, burying away their cruelty forever.

Grievous can only dream.

That's all he can ever do...

He lifts his head to look out at the stars, not knowing who he truly is anymore. Soon - very soon, in the short period of two days time, he will lead the droid armies into battle on the Geonosian sister world of Hypori. He is told that there will be Jedi.

As his mind spins, it is the day General Grievous renounces his oath, as should have been done decades ago...It brings him slight comfort in such troubling times, knowing that a burden be has unknowingly carried has been lifted off his shoulders. He was born alone, and so it is meant to be when he dies.

The words echo like demons in his head: "_No one is stronger then death_..." Just maybe, he supposes with a sigh, he is starting to believe that.

The oath he had once taken is forsaken, but one thing is certain to the cyborg general.

It will never be forgotten.

Not after everything.

_The End_...


End file.
